| |
| THERE’S no wind along these seas, | |
| Out oars for Stavanger! | |
| Forward all for Stavanger! | |
| So we must wake the white-ash breeze, | |
| Let fall for Stavanger! | 5 |
| A long pull for Stavanger! | |
| |
| Oh, hear the benches creak and strain! | |
| (A long pull for Stavanger!) | |
| She thinks she smells the Northland rain! | |
| (A long pull for Stavanger!) | 10 |
| |
| She thinks she smells the Northland snow, | |
| And she’s as glad as we to go. | |
| |
| She thinks she smells the Northland rime, | |
| And the dear dark nights of winter-time. | |
| |
| She wants to be at her own home pier, | 15 |
| To shift her sails and standing gear. | |
| |
| She wants to be in her winter-shed, | |
| To strip herself and go to bed. | |
| |
| Her very bolts are sick for shore, | |
| And we—we want it ten times more! | 20 |
| |
| So all you Gods that love brave men, | |
| Send us a three-reef gale again! | |
| |
| Send us a gale, and watch us come, | |
| With close-cropped canvas slashing home! | |
| |
| But—there’s no wind on all these seas, | 25 |
| A long pull for Stavanger! | |
| So we must wake the white-ash breeze, | |
| A long pull for Stavanger! | |
| |
