'Nearly home, nearly home!' says the screw that whips the foam,
And the engine is a-throbbing like a heart,
And the cloven water curls and the broken water swirls -
And it's 'Steady, laddie, steady!' for your thoughts are in an eddy,
And your arms are open, ready, and a tear is fain to start.

'Were you far, were you far?' asks the Holy Island star,
And the Cumbrae signals 'hurry!' down the tide.
Is it sorrow or delight that is in your soul tonight?
have you made your little more? Are you poorer than before?
Well, they love you as of yore, up at Glasgow on the Clyde.

Back again, back again! And the Cloch is growing plain,
And the nor' winds blowing welcome down loch long.
You've been half the world away, where a month can make one grey;
But from every end of earth there's a road to reach your Firth -
Oh! you'd belt creation's girth when the old desire is strong.

Never mind, never mind, if you feel your growing blind,
If you see a mist about your native shore;
If the Greenock lights look queer, it's because the end is near;
If the air is strange and still, if there's a silence o'er the hill,
It's because they wait the thrill of the anchor's rush and roar.

Nearly home, nearly home!' says the screw that whips the foam,
And the engine is a-throbbing like a heart,
And the cloven water curls and the broken water swirls -
And it's 'Steady, laddie, steady!' for your thoughts are in an eddy,
And your arms are open, ready, and a tear is fain to start.