The [D]seagulls are [G]calling,and the [D]wind is in the [Bm]sails,

It hurts me to think of the things I left behind,

There's a fever a-raging, and the wind has died away,

And she's [D]fast moving [G]out over the [A]sea,

And the famine has blackened our land

And our journey may no longer be,

On a [D]ship bound for [G]St. Johns three [D]thousand miles a-[Bm]way,

And to look now for something, that I may never find,

'Though the plague is a shadow, that lingers night and day,

A human [D]cargo; my com-[G]rades and [D]me.

It's a problem that's now close at hand.

Warmer thoughts of Green Valleys I'll see.

Fare-[D]well my Green [G]Valleys, God [D]keep you the [Bm]same,

If [D]only in my [G]mind you will [A]be,

I'm [D] sailing dark [G]waters,to [D]far Ameri-[Bm]kay,

Never [D]more my Green [G]valleys to [D]see.