Cruel is our lonely ocean,
Roaring always day and night;
Buried 'neath its wild commotion
Many a wreck lies, far from sight.

Courage, comrades! I, confiding,
To the free winds give my barque;
Forth it hastens, swiftly riding
O'er the billows grim and dark.

Thick the clouds fly o'er the heaven,
Fierce the gale grows,—black the waves;
Hither, thither we are driven,
While the waking whirlwind raves.

Courage, comrades! Peals the thunder,
High the watery heaps arise,
Yawning gulfs now draw us under,
Now we 're lifted to the skies.

Yet behold, our ship is nearing
Through the storm the wished-for land;
See, the vaults of heaven are clearing,
See, the port is near at hand.

Thither but brave hearts and ready
Will the billows speed along!
Courage, comrades! straight and steady
Flies our vessel, stanch and strong.