There's a piping wind from a sunrise shore br Blowing over a silver sea, br There's a joyous voice in the lapsing tide br That calls enticingly; br The mist of dawn has taken flight br To the dim horizon's bound, br And with wide sails set and eager hearts br We're off to the fishing ground. br br Ho, comrades mine, how that brave wind sings br Like a great sea-harp afar! br We whistle its wild notes back to it br As we cross the harbor bar. br Behind us there are the homes we love br And hearts that are fond and true, br And before us beckons a strong young day br On leagues of glorious blue. br br Comrades, a song as the fleet goes out, br A song of the orient sea! br We are the heirs of its tingling strife, br Its courage and liberty. br Sing as the white sails cream and fill, br And the foam in our wake is long, br Sing till the headlands black and grim br Echo us back our song! br br Oh, 'tis a glad and heartsome thing br To wake ere the night be done br And steer the course that our fathers steered br In the path of the rising sun. br The wind and welkin and wave are ours br Wherever our bourne is found, br And we envy no landsman his dream and sleep br When we're off to the fishing ground.