Say not the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been, things remain.

'There is no God,' the wicked saith, 'And truly it's a blessing, For what He might have done with us It's better only guessing.'

For while the tired waves vainly breaking Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

I sit at my table en grand seigneur, And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor; Not only the pleasure, one's self, of good living, But also the pleasure …

It is to hope, though hope were lost.

It's gonna be a long hard drag, but we'll make it.

'I keep sailing on in this middle passage. I am sailing into the wind and the dark. But I am doing my best to keep my boat steady and my sails full.'