To All in Haven

All ye who have gained the haven of safe days,
And rest at ease, your wanderings being done, —
Except the last, inevitable one, —
Be well content, I say, and hear men's praise;
Yet in the quiet of your sheltered bays, —
Bland waters shining in an equal sun, —
Forget not that the awful storm-tides run
In far, unsheltered, and tempestuous ways.

Remember near what rocks, and through what shoals.
Worn, desperate mariners strain with all their might;
They may not come to your sweet restful goals,
Your waters placid in the level light:
Their graves wait in that sea no moon controls,
That is in dreadful fellowship with Night,