| Blow, silver wind, with a whoop from the mountains, |
| Strike up a tune in the ropes and the rig! |
| Blow, lucky breeze, come kiss the white canvas, |
| the anchors are up, boys, it’s time for a swig. |
| No don’t turn your backs, boys, let’s face the land squarely, |
| watching her glimmer away in the mists. |
| We gave her our guts, but she fed us just barely. |
| We’ll go where there’s use for our backs and our fists! |
| Blow, silver wind, with a sight from the mountains. |
| Whisper a word from the hills and the streams. |
| Blow, wind of sorrow, hasten the hour. |
| Let us be gone now. There’s no time for dreams. |
| No, don’t turn around. Pray the wind will keep blowing. |
| There is no returning so don’t look behind. |
| What we have lost there is no way of knowing. |
| No way of knowing what we shall find… |
| Blow, silver wind, with a song from the mountains! |
| Wish us God speed with a cheer from afar! |
| Blow, wind of hope, for your children departing. |
| We know what you gave us. We know who we are. |
| So look alive all! Feel the old ship is straining, |
| already she’s wetting her nose in the brine. |
| So, look to the East where the old land is waning, |
| and look to the West where the new land shall shine… |