I know a western river
Where the Spring goes first of all.
I know a sailors' village
Where the elm trees grow tall
And the folk in their walk
And their half sea, half farm-way talk
Bring names of tales and brighter fames
As live as them all.

O, you river, gliding to the sea,
I'll ne'er forget brown Severn
While my life loves the sea.

Far out to wider waters
All the old men have gone
To shores of great Atlantic.
I would love to look on
Baltimore and Boston City
And the wide Hudson shore,
That their fathers found in
Danger with a war-time risk to run.

O, you river, gliding to the West:
Of all the rivers yet I know,
I love Severn best.

They came, those hearty sailors,
Home at times from foreign parts.
New words and songs and salty yarns,
With sea-pride in their hearts;
Still I'd jump at any chance to cruise
Where Carolina's sand and pines
Heave first in sight for English folk
With pride and salutes.

O, you rivers, gliding to the sea,
If you'll take me where I want to
I'll make charities of thee,
Love's songs of thee.