Rushing along on a narrow reach,
Our rival under the lee,
The wind falls foul of the weather leach,
And the jib flaps fretfully.
The skipper casts a glance along,
And handles his wheel to meet—
Then sings in the voice of a stormy song,
"All hands get on that sheet!"
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill,
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
And bring the main-sheet aft.
Rolling the foam up over the rail
She smokes along and flings
A spurt of spray in the curving sail,

And plunges and rolls and springs;
For a wild, wet spot is the scuppers' sweep,
As we stand to our knees along—
It's a foot to make and a foot to keep
As we surge to the bullie's song.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
And bring the main-sheet aft.
Muscle and mind are a winning pair
With a lively plank below,
That whether the wind be foul or fair
Will pick up her heels and go;
For old hemp and hands are shipmates long—
There's work whenever they meet—
So here's to a pull that's steady and strong,
When all hands get on the sheet.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will

And bring the main-sheet aft.