| Up aloft, amid the rigging
|
| Swiftly blows the fav’ring gale,
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| Strong as springtime in its blossom,
|
| Filling out each bending sail,
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| And the waves we leave behind us
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| Seem to murmur as they rise;
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| We have tarried here to bear you
|
| To the land you dearly prize.
|
| Rolling home, rolling home,
|
| Rolling home across the sea,
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| Rolling home to dear old England
|
| Rolling home, dear land to thee.
|
| Now, it takes all hands to man the capstan,
|
| Mister see your cables clear!
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| Soon you’ll be sailing homeward bound sir,
|
| And for the channel you will steer.
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| See your sheets and crew lines free sir,
|
| All your buntlines overhauled;
|
| Are the sheerpoles and gear all ready?
|
| Soon for New England we will steer.
|
| Rolling home, rolling home,
|
| Rolling home across the sea,
|
| Rolling home to dear old England
|
| Rolling home, dear land to thee.
|
| Full ten thousand miles behind us,
|
| And a thousand miles before,
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| Ancient ocean waves to waft us
|
| To the well remembered shore.
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| Newborn breezes swell to send us
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| To our childhood welcome skies,
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| To the glow of friendly faces
|
| And the glance of loving eyes.
|
| Rolling home, rolling home,
|
| Rolling home across the sea,
|
| Rolling home to dear old England
|
| Rolling home, dear land to thee. |