On the Voyage.
In die Segel fanst und linde
de la Motte Fouqué.
On our sails all soft and sweetly,
Yet with bold resistless force,
Breathe the winds of heaven, and fleetly
Wing us on our watery course;
Swift, and swifter, furrowing deep
Through the mighty waves, that keep
Not a trace where we have been,
On we speed to lands unseen!
Sink thou deeply in our mind,
Type of life, most apt and true!
Though we leave no track behind,
Yet we plough our furrows too,
Where, from out a world of bliss,
Falls the seed unseen of this,
And an unseen distant home
Beckons o'er the desert foam.
Be our voyage, brethren, such
That if direst peril came,
Wreck and ruin could not touch
Ought but this our weary frame;
That may gladly sleep, the while
Still and blest the soul shall smile,
In the eternal peace of Heaven,
That our God hath surely given.
Oh that in that blessed peace
Many and many a soul may rest!
Oh through us may God increase
Soon the number of the blest!
Free through us the souls that now
'Neath a bitter bondage bow;
Whom yet darkest error binds!
Speed, oh speed us on, ye winds!