All hands on deck, below there!
The storm is coming soon,
The clouds tramp on in panic
Across the swirling moon.

The wind pipes in the halyards,
We lean with scanted sail;
Now, with a leap, we're riding
The first rush of the gale;

The lubbers in their cabins
Crouch close and pray for life:
The young man free and single,
The old man, by his wife;

And one would give his fortune,
And one, his love so fair,
For solid earth to stand on
If but a furlong square.

It's up the shrouds, my hearties,
And reef the gansells tight, -
The blow that we are having
May blow the world from sight . . .

Tomorrow, lads, the landsmen,
How they will strut and lie, -
And we - we'll squirt tobacco
And wink the other eye,

Saying, as we plunge onward
With tier on tier of sail -
'I've seen worse in my time, sir, -
Yet - 'twas a proper gale!'