The Heaving of the Lead

For England when with favoring gale   Our gallant ship up channel steered, And, scudding under easy sail,   The high blue western land appeared; To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,             “By the deep—nine!” And bearing up to gain the port,   Some well-known object kept in view,— An abbey-tower, a harbor-fort,   Or beacon to the vessel true; While oft the lead the seaman flung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,             “By the mark—seven!” And as the much-loved shore we near,   With transport we behold the roof Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,   Of faith and love a matchless proof. The lead once more the seaman flung, And to the watchful pilot sung,             “Quarter less—five!” Now to her berth the ship draws nigh:   We shorten sail,—she feels the tide,— “Stand clear the cable” is the cry,—   The anchor ’s gone; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night We hear the seamen with delight             Proclaim,—“All ’s well!”