For England when with favoring gale
Our gallant ship up channel steered,
And, scudding under easy sail,
The high blue western land appeared;
To heave the lead the seaman spring,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,
' By the deep - nine! '

And bearing up to gain the port,
Some well-known object kept in view, -
An abbey-tower, a harbor-fort,
Or beacon to the vessel true;
While oft the lead the seaman flung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,
' By the mark - seven! '

And as the much-loved shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,
Of faith and love a matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,
' Quarter less - five! '

Now to her berth, the ship draws nigh:
We shorten sail, - she feels the tide, -
'Stand clear the cable' is the cry, -
The anchor's gone; we safely ride.
The watch is set, and through the night
We hear the seamen with delight
Proclaim, - ' All's well! '