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Where the sun looks cold and shorn

Where the day is long and lorn

Ah! too long, so cold and dreary,

Long and lorn, and dim and weary

All is frozen still and fast

In that death-land, wild and vast;

Down the darksome northern ocean;

From that darksome northern main,

Over desolation endless,

A region void and friendless

Wrought from uttermost despair

Drear, immeasurable gloom!

One vast shroud, without a tomb,

What a band! and what a doom!

Whether life so closed behind them

That the living never can find them,

Whether kindly, death received them,

And from utter woe relieved them

All is frozen still and fast

In that death-land, wild and vast;

They are the lost ones

They are the lost ones

We are the lost ones

We are the lost ones

(Based upon a poem by Samuel Bamford)