Heaving of the Lead

For England, when with fav'ring gale, Our gallant ship up channel steer'd, And scudding under easy sail, The high blue western land appear'd; To heave the lead the seaman sprung, 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-tow'r, an harbour-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 lov'd shore we're 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 birth the ship draws nigh: We take in sail, she feels the tide: Stand clear the cable!—is the cry: The anchor's gone—we safely ride. The watch is set, and thro' the night We hear the seaman with delight. Proclaim all's well!