at heel,
With God for their comfort only, the God whom they serve; and
here
Their Lord, of his great loving-kindness, may revel and make
good cheer;
Though ever his lips wax thirstier with drinking, and hotter the
lusts in him swell;
For he feeds the thirst that consumes him with blood, and his
winepress fumes with the reek of hell.

II

Fierce noon beats hard on the battle; the galleons that loom to
the lee
Bow down, heel over, uplifting their shelterless hulls from the
sea:
From scuppers aspirt with blood, from guns dismounted and dumb,
The signs of the doom they looked for, the loud mute witnesses
come.
They press with sunset to seaward for comfort: and shall not they
find it there?
O servants of God most high, shall his winds not pass you by, and
his waves not spare?

III

The wings of the south-west wind are widened; the breath of his
fervent lips,
More keen than a sword's edge, fiercer than fire, falls full on the
plunging ships.