The Fisherman of Newnham

When I was a boy at Newnham,
For every tide that ran
Swift on its way to Bollo,
I wished I were a man
To sail out and discover
Where such a tide began.

But when my strength came on me
’Tis I must earn my bread:
My Father set me fishing
By Frampton Hock, instead
Of wandering to the ocean--
Wherever Severn led.

And now I’ve come to manhood,
Too many cares have I
To think of gallivanting
(A wife and child forbye).
So I must wonder ever
Until time comes to die.

Then I shall question Peter
Upon the heavenly floor,
What makes the tide in rivers--
How comes the Severn bore,
And all things he will tell me
I never knew before.