The Tar's Sheet Anchor

In early youth to fear a stranger,

Contemning indolence and ease,

In Albion's cause I courted danger,

And vent'rous plough'd the stormy seas;

I dreaded not the cannon's thunder,

Let bullets range their wonted scope,

Or tempests split our bark asunder,

The tar's sheet-anchor still is Hope.

In hammock lull'd to sleep, or waking,

The mid-watch come, or slung the bowl,

Or signal-guns, distress bespeaking,

Implore for aid, while tempests howl.

Or when the battle's heat is raging,

With force superior Britons cope,

The mind to placid ease assuaging,

The tar's sheet-anchor still is Hope.