Be strong and wait! nor let the strife,
With which the winds and waves are rife,
Disturb that sacred inner life.
Anon thou shalt regain the shore,
And walk—though naked, maimed, and sore—
A nobler being than before!
No lesser griefs shall work thee ill;
No malice shall have power to kill:
Of woe thy soul has drunk its fill.
Tempests, that beat us to the clay,