The hardy Tar

A Sailor, on the top—mast, No fear nor danger knows, Tho' death he sees advancing, In every gale that blows. With courage ne'er unshaken, He views the surge below, And a grave in each wave, While the stormy wind doth blow.

When sailing on the ocean, In danger of our lives, We pray for heav'ns protection, Our sweethearts, & our wives: How little knows the landsmen The toil we undergo, When we sail in each gale, And the stormy wind doth blow,

Now fortune she has smiled, And homeward we are bound; Our pockets lin'd with gold, my boys, Our brows with laurels crown'd. Let's push about the bowl, my boys, And pay before we go, And we'll roll on the shore, Let the wind blow high or low.