Can you see the ships, lad, looming up the Channel,
Lean ships, grey ships, creeping through the haze?
Can you hear the guns, lad, booming on the tideway,
Guns that roared and volleyed in the bygone days?

Here are lights a-flashing, here are shells a-crashing,
But when did love forsake us, when did courage fail?
Drake’s men, Blake’s men, and all their merry company
Are beating up the Channel with the Sou’-west gale.

The ships are in the sea road
With main deck a-foam,
And the old oaken frigates
Are beating up for home.

See the happy shore, lad, all along the Channel,
Old folk, young folk, sporting in the sun:
Hear the laughing wind, lad, softly on the tideway
Whispering the glory of the great days done.

Silver spray is flying, loud the gulls are crying
From Beachy Head and Portland Bill down to Kynance Cove;
For Drake’s men, Blake’s men and all their merry company
Have fought for us and bought for us the land we love.

Roaring up the Channel
With snowy canvas spread,
And the old flag of Britain
Streaming overhead.