All ye who have gained the haven of safe days,
  And rest at ease, your wanderings being done,
  Except the last, inevitable one,
Be well content, I say, and hear men’s praise:
Yet in the quiet of your sheltered bays,—
  Bland waters shining in an equal sun,—
  Forget not that the awful storm-tides run
In far, unsheltered, and tempestuous...