This soul to me: "The seething sea,
Tossing hungry under me,
I fear to trust; the ships I fear;
I see no isle of beauty near;
The sun is blotted out—no more
'Twill shine for me on any shore."
Once more I said: "Be not afraid;
Yield to the storm without a dread;
For the tree, by tempests torn
From its native soil, is borne