Row by row and row by row,
Marching too and then marching fro,
The Ancient saints, gone—gone—gone,
Into the sea’s most violent throws.

Brothers and sisters look on,
To the bare grey of the new dawn,
To however this sets them free.
Waves pull the pelican and swan,

Down into antiquity.
No tears cried, no lost sympathy.
Mary, the Lord is with thee.
Hail Mary, the Lord is with thee.