  Lord, what ship goes forth to-day? I see her setting West. Shall she have thy winds aright, Stars to guide her with their light, Shall she sweep the seas to sight Of land and harbour-rest? Awful is thy ocean-wrath, And none can chart thy shoals When storm unassuaging hath Blotted sun and planet-path. Shall she, Lord, escape the scath And live, with all her souls? For it is a beauteous thing That ships should sail the sea. Into waves that foam and fling Maelstroms at their bows to bring Them down to destiny. And she, too, courageous rides Away into the gloom. Now her lights are lost in tides Of the windy spray that glides Thro the darkness, Lord, abides Thy Dove with her—or Doom? I shall know perhaps some day, Or, knowing not, recall How my heart was fain to pray For a ship that bravely lay To her task: O Lord, so may Each vessel of us all! |
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