A Mariner's Song

Though now we are sluggish and lazy on shore,
Yet soon shall we be where the wild waters roar;
Where the wind through the hoarse rattling cordage shall rave,
And fling the white foam from the top of the wave.

Yes, soon o'er the waters the Essex shall sweep,
And bear all the thunders of war o'er the deep;
While the hands that are hard, and the hearts that are brave,
Shall give the bold frigate the top of the wave.

And though some one among us may never return,
His comrades shall sorrow, his messmates shall mourn;
Though his body may sink to a watery grave,
His spirit shall rise to the top of the wave.

Then a health to John Adams! and long may he reign
O'er the mountain, the valley, the shore, and the main;
May he have the same breeze, which to WASHINGTON gave,
In his cruise o'er the waters, the top of the wave.