  'TINNIT, INANE EST!' Thy bark, a coffin; helmsman, death— A narrow shroud, the sail; Thy freight corruption; and the breath Of parting life the gale: This makes all sense and sight disclose Contemptible and mean; But Faith, like ocean, riches knows, Exhaustless, but unseen. And, as that ocean wild, the moon, With silver sceptre guides, And, tranquil on her distant throne, Controls the raging tides; So Faith, from her celestial height, Consoles the troubled breast, And calm, from consciousness of might, Rebellion awes to rest. C. |
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