-Tis strange on such a peaceful day
With white clouds flying o-er,
That foreign boats are in the bay
As prisoners of war.
The Harbour, where they quietly lay;
Smiles brightly as of yore.

Where never angry shot was fired
To alter peaceful plans;
Where British lumpers worked till tired
With Yacob and with Hans,
And -shouted- when their work was done
For other -sailormans-.

And while we think of other lands
And what is doing there,
And while we think of what red hands
May wreak in our despair -
How can the Harbour be so blue,
And the sky above so fair?