Call all hands to man the capstan, see the cable run down clear,
Heave away and with a will boys, for old England we will steer,
And we’ll sing in joyful chorus, through the watches of the night,
And we’ll sight our land before us when the grey dawn brings the light.
Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea,
Rolling home dear old England,
Rolling home dear land to thee.
High aloft up in the rigging, blows the loud, exalting gale,
Like bird’s wide, outstretched pinions spreads on high each swelling sail,
And the wild waves cleft behind us seem to murmur as they flow,
There are loving arms that wait you in the land to which you go.
Many thousand miles behind us, many thousand miles before,
Ancient ocean heave to waft us to that well-remembered shore,
Cheer up Jack, bright smiles await you from the fairest of the fair,
And their loving eyes will greet you with kind welcomes everywhere.