XI

Like to a ship that storms urge on its course,

By its own trials our soul is surer made.

The very things that make the voyage worse

Do make it better; its peril is its aid.

And, as the storm drives from the storm, our heart

Within the peril disimperilled grows;

A port is near the more from port we part —

The port whereto our driven direction goes.

If we reap knowledge to cross-profit, this

From storms we learn, when tbe storm's height doth drive —

That the black presence of its violence is

The pushing promise of near far blue skies.

Learn we but how to have the pilot-skill,

And the storm's verv might shall mate our will.