The ship is gone... Now in that gulf of death

He swims and struggles on with failing breath:

He grasps a plank—it sinks—too frail to upbear

His leaden load of care;

Another and another—straws!—they are gone!

He cries aloud, stifles, and struggles on;

For still thro’ voids of gloom his straining sight

Sees the sad glimmer of a steadfast light!

He gains the rocks... What shining hands are these,

Reached out to pluck him from the cruel seas?