THE FISHER OF MEN

In the still of the darkness while others sleep,
again the old man his vigil does keep.

While moonlit clouds drift in the breeze,
the fisher yet toils by the sands of the seas.

His prey is not meat, his catch has no fin.
He labours for souls, this a fisher of men.

He sharpens his tools, studies his net again,
and looks to the sea, the souls of all men.

He ponders the storm, the raging of sin,
and thinks on the sea, the souls of all men.

He prays through the midnight and at dawn
begins casting on the sea for the souls of all men.

Though bitter cold cut or scorching heat singe,
he stays on the sea for the souls of all men.

He’s moved by a flame, a pure burning coal,
it’s fire in his bones and food for his soul.

No glory or honour or praise does he ask,
Only strength for the day and souls for his task.

As night time falls, a burdened tear descend,
for his love is the sea, the souls of all men.

One day when the sea still groans and calls,
behind the old man a tiny shadow falls.

With bright eyes twinkling and toes in the sand,
he sees Daddy work and watches his hand!

He sees no meat nor spiney fin,
only souls and fisher of men.

He touches the tools tugs the net again,
and looks at the sea, the souls of all men.

He weeps through the night, then at dawn
begins his life on the sea, the souls of all men.

His cold heart cut, he bleeds deep within:
he yearns for the sea, the souls of all men.

He’s moved by a flame, a pure burning coal,
it’s fire in his bones and food for his soul.

No glory or honour or praise does he chase,
only strength for the day to take Father’s place.

As night time falls, an old fisher ascends
no more to fish the sea, the souls of all men.

Now in the darkness while others sleep,
a young fisher of men the vigil does keep.


Gregory V. Trull