Classic Poem

My country called and I answered,
Thrilling in every nerve,
So I gave up my job and I shipped as a gob
In Uncle Sam's Naval Reserve.

Oh, clean was the breath of the offshore wind,
And sweet was the scent of the offshore wind,
And the voice of the sea was alive in me,
And the tang of the brine in my heart.

Then they gave me the togs of a sailor,
And they shipped me to Pelham Bay,
And they taught me to chew as the sailormen do,
And to talk in a nautical way.

So I learned to scrub windows and hammocks,
And to carry a rifle on guard,
And to tell time by bells, and with pebbles and shells
To make anchors and things in our yard.

And the walls of our barracks were " bulwarks " ;
When we spoke of the deck we meant " floor " ;
And when, for example, we'd go out of camp
We would say we were " going ashore. "

And so through the war's murk and darkness,
We valiantly stood at our post,
And never a gun of the venturesome Hun
Was heard near the Westchester coast.

And never a U-Boat reached Pelham;
And never a Boche ventured nigh;
No shot ever fell upon fair New Rochelle,
Mount Vernon, or Yonkers, or Rye.

And now I am back at my office,
And my soul's crying out to be free,
For a tar nevermore can be happy ashore
Who has harked to the call of the sea.

For clean is the breath of the offshore wind,
And sweet is the scent of the offshore wind,
And the voice of the sea is alive in me,
And the tang of the brine in my heart.