W E'RE bound for blue water where the great winds blow,
It 's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go;
The crowd 's at the capstan and the tune 's in the shout,
" A long pull, a strong pull, and warp the hooker out . "

The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows,
Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a rouse;
A salt Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead,
" A long pull, a strong pull, and the yard to the masthead . "

Green and merry run the seas, the wind comes cold,
Salt and strong and pleasant, and worth a mint of gold;
And she 's staggering, swooping, as she feels her feet,
" A long pull, a strong pull, and aft the main-sheet . "

Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-gear strains,
Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil 's in the chains;
Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned,
" A long pull, a strong pull, and we're outward bound . "

Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon,
The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, soon
We'll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you steer,
" Ease her when she pitches, and so-long, my dear . "