Another one from Bill Adams:

All Hands On Deck

"Rouse out, you sleepers! Come, now, rise and shine!"
How would you like to hear that cry again?
You rolled into your bunk at eight, and now it's nine!
You hear the wind, the lashing of the rain;
You thought they'd let you sleep until eight bells, till midnight came;
Your every limb is sore; you're aching weary; you feel vast swells
Surge under her deep keel. "Roose out there, dearie!
We're going to take the upper topsails in;
It's blowing up like hell; it's black as sin;
All hands on deck, my son!" And out you tumble
To grope for sodden sea-boots and your oilskin coat,
And wrap a towel round your throat to keep the water out,
You groan, you grumble; the one who calls you laughs, with mocking lips;
He's better used than you to the ways of ships;
He's been three years at sea, and you but one.
"We're going to furl the topsails! Ain't that fun!"
Your sopping bunk was luxury; it still is steaming
From your body's warmth while you lay there dreaming that you were back ashore;
Ah, happy days! You step out to the night, out to the sprays; you hear a sail
Crashing above you, lowered for the gale; a greyback roars aboard and knocks you down,
Before you gain your feet you almost drown!
"Where's that useless pup?" You hear the mate;
"All hands on deck, and that young lubber's late!"
Somehow you struggle up the deck's mad slope;
Somehow you find your place upon the rope;
The boatswain's bawling, "Yo-ho! Haul away! Hi-leeee!"
Who wouldn't sell a farm and go to sea?

Notes

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 117-118.

Charley Noble