AT THE HELM

By Cale Young Rice

Fog, and a wind that blows the sea

Blindly into my eyes.

And I know not if my soul shall be

When the day dies.

But if it be not and I lose

All that men live to gain —

I who have little known but hues

Of wind and rain —

Still I shall envy no man's lot,

For I have held this great,

Never in whines to have forgot

That Fate is Fate.