The Gallant Ship Is under Way

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Lyrics from A Collection of Sacred Hymns for the Use of the Latter Day Saints, 1844

1. The gallant ship is under way,
To bear me off to sea,
And yonder float the streamers gay,
That say she waits for me.
The seamen dip their ready oar,
As ebbing waves oft tell -
They bear me swiftly from the shore:
My native land, farewell.

2. I go but not to plough the main
To ease a restless mind,
Nor do I toil on battle's plain
The victor's wreath to twine.
'Tis not for treasures that are hid
In mountain or in dell!
'Tis not for joys like these I bid
My native land, farewell.

3. I go to break the fowler's snare,
To gather Israel home;
I go the name of Christ to bear
In lands and isles unknown.
And when my pilgrim feet shall tread
On land where darkness dwells,
Where light and truth have long since fled
My native land, farewell.

4. I go an erring child of dust,
Ten thousand foes, among;
Yet on His mighty arm I trust
That makes the feeble strong -
My sun, my shield forever nigh,
He will my fears dispel:
This hope supports me when I sigh -
My native land, farewell.

5. I go devoted to his cause,
And to his will resigned;
His presence will supply the loss
Of all I leave behind.
His promise cheers the sinking heart,
And lights the darkest cell,
To exiled pilgrims grace imparts -
My native land, farewell.

6. I go because my master calls;
He's made my duty plain -
No danger can the heart appal
When Jesus stoops to reign!
And now the vessel's side we've made,
The sails their bosoms swell;
Thy beauties in the distance fade -
My native land, farewell.

Lyrics from A Collection of Sacred Hymns for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Europe, 1840

Hymn 214
C.M.D.
1. The gallant ship is under way,
To bear me off to sea,
And yonder float the streamers gay,
That say she waits for me.
The seamen dip their ready oar,
As ebbing waves oft tell -
They bear me swiftly from the shore:
My native land farewell.

2. I go but not to plough the main
To ease a restless mind,
Nor do I toil on battle's plain
The victor's wreath to twine.
'Tis not for treasures that are hid
In mountain or in dell!
'Tis not for joys like these I bid
My native land farewell.

3. I go to break the fowler's snare,
To gather Israel home:
I go the name of Christ to bear
In lands and isles unknown,
And when my pilgrim feet shall tread
On land where darkness dwells,
Where light and truth have long since fled
My native land farewell.

4. I go an erring child of dust,
Ten thousand foes among;
Yet on his mighty arm I trust
That makes the feeble strong -
My sun, my shield, forever nigh,
He will my fears dispel:
This hope supports me when I sigh -
My native land farewell.

5. I go devoted to his cause,
And to his will resigned;
His presence will supply the loss
Of all I leave behind.
His promise cheers the sinking heart,
And lights the darkest cell,
To exiled pilgrims grace imparts -
My native land farewell.

6. I go because my master calls;
He's made my duty plain -
No danger can the heart appal
When Jesus stoops to reign!
And now the vessel's side we've gained:
The sails their bosoms swell:
Thy beauties in the distance fade -
My native land farewell.

Apparently related lyrics from The Poetical Works of Robert Southey, 1845 p. 109

XIX.
She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant Ship; along her watery way
Homeward she drives before the favouring gales;
Now flirting at their length the streamers play,
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.
Hark to the sailors' shouts! the rocks rebound,
Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound.
Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas,
And what a heart-delight they feel at last,
So many toils, so many dangers past,
To view the port desired, he only knows
Who on the stormy deep for many a day
Hath tost, aweary of his watery way,
And watched, all anxious, every wind that blows.
Westbury, 1799.