L'appel du grand large

The grey waves are rising on Galway's cold shore The wind whispers names of the sailors of yore With a heart full of hope and a coat worn and thin We set out to sea as the tide rushes in Oh, hold to the anchor, and steer through the gale The salt in our eyes and the wind in our sail Though the cliffs fade away in the mist and the foam The light of the hearth-fire will carry us home My father once told me, the ocean is deep It holds all the secrets the land cannot keep With a fiddle that weeps and a song in the dark We trace out our path by a heavenly spark Oh, hold to the anchor, and steer through the gale The salt in our eyes and the wind in our sail Though the cliffs fade away in the mist and the foam The light of the hearth-fire will carry us home And when the storm rages and shadows grow long We find our resolve in the strength of a song No ocean can break what is written in stone We sail with the ghosts, but we sail not alone Oh, hold to the anchor, and steer through the gale The salt in our eyes and the wind in our sail Though the cliffs fade away in the mist and the foam The light of the hearth-fire will carry us home The tide rushes in We're coming home On Galway's cold shore