11

Wednesday April 9-24
Home.
O, there's a wind a blowing,
a blowing from the west.
And that, of all winds, is the one
I like the best.
For it blows at our backs, and
it shakes our pennons free-
And it soon will blow us Home-
to the old countree-
For to Home, dearie - Home- it's
Home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and
we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the
bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green - in
the old countree.