On the Sea VIII

Call greeting unto daughters and kindred,
Peace to brothers and to sisters,
From the captive of hope who is possessed
By the sea, and hath placed his spirit in the hand of the winds,
Thrust by the hand of the west into the hand of the east:
This one passeth to lead on, and that one to thrust back.
Between him and death is but a step,
Aye, between them but the thickness of a plank;
Buried alive in a coffin of wood,
Upon no floor, with no four cubits of earth, nor even with less.
He sitteth—he cannot stand upon his feet,
He lieth down—he cannot stretch them forth;
Sick and afraid because of the heathen
And because of the marauders and the winds.
The pilot and the mariner, and all their rabble—
They are the rulers and captains there.
Fame is not to the wise, nor yet favour to men of skill,
Save only to them that 'have skill to swim.
My face is troubled at this for a moment,
How should the inmost heart exult?)
Until I pour out my soul into the bosom of God,
Before the place of the Ark and the altars,
And bestow upon God, who bestoweth good things upon the unworthy,
The goodness of songs: and praise.