And the day sweeps round to the nightward; and heavy and hard the
waves
Roll in on the herd of the hurtling galleons; and masters and
slaves
Reel blind in the grasp of the dark strong wind that shall dig
their graves.

For the sepulchres hollowed and shaped of the wind in the swerve of
the seas,
The graves that gape for their pasture, and laugh, thrilled through
by the breeze,
The sweet soft merciless waters, await and are fain of these.

As the hiss of a Python heaving in menace of doom to be
They hear through the clear night round them, whose hours are as
clouds that flee,
The whisper of tempest sleeping, the heave and the hiss of the sea.

But faith is theirs, and with faith are they girded and helmed and
shod:
Invincible are they, almighty, elect for a sword and a rod;
Invincible even as their God is omnipotent, infinite, God.

In him is their strength, who have sworn that his glory shall wax
not dim:
In his name are their war-ships hallowed as mightiest of all that
swim:
The men that shall cope with these, and conquer, shall cast out
him.