I hear the call of the wanderlust,
And God knows why, but go I must;
Until my bones are drifting dust
I'll follow the sea-gull's cry.
The bow-wash song to the dog-watch bell,
The kick o' the wheel and the chantey's spell
Get hold of a man in spite o' Hell,
And a better man than I!

I've ranged and rogued and I've done my bit;
I've danced the dance and I've paid for it; 
I've turned my heel on the Scripture's writ
In the lure of an alien eye.
But I set no store in the like o' these;
I want the sweep of the Seven Seas,
The mainsail-haul to a biting breeze
And a star to steer me by!

And yet- the old dream comes to me
Of a quiet home where I would be
Beyond the trackless miles o' the sea
And the far-blown clouds o' foam.
My homeland's call sets me astir
With hopes as brave as once they were,
And my heart cries out to the cry of her,-
For she calls me, this time, home!