NAVIS IGNOTA

By Cale Young Rice

Lord, what ship goes forth to-day?

I see her setting West.

Shall she have thy winds aright,

Stars to guide her with their light,

Shall she sweep the seas to sight

Of land and harbour-rest?

Awful is thy ocean-wrath,

And none can chart thy shoals

When storm unassuaging hath

Blotted sun and planet-path.

Shall she, Lord, escape the scath

And live, with all her souls?

For it is a beauteous thing

That ships should sail the sea.

Splendid is their plunge and swing

Into waves that foam and fling

Maelstroms at their bows to bring

Them down to destiny.

And she, too, courageous rides

Away into the gloom.

Now her lights are lost in tides

Of the windy spray that glides

Thro the darkness, Lord, abides

Thy Dove with her — or Doom?

I shall know perhaps some day,

Or, knowing not, recall

How my heart was fain to pray

For a ship that bravely lay

To her task: O Lord, so may

Each vessel of us all!