And what is Man the while? And what his will?
And what the furtherance of his earthly hope?
To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a rope
A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill
For One he loves, to keep her out of ill—
This is the will of Man, and this his scope.
XIX.
'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows anon
It can be wild, and keep away from home
A thousand ships—and lash itself to foam—