O God of justice, why hast Thou ordained
  Plans of the wise and actions of the brave
  Dependent on the aid of fools and cowards?

  Look,—­there she goes,—­her topsails in the sun
  Gleam from the ragged ocean edge, and drop
  Clean out of sight!  So let the traitors go
  Clean out of mind!  We’ll think of braver things! 
  Come closer in the boat, my friends.  John King,
  You take the tiller, keep her head nor’west. 
  You Philip Staffe, the only one who chose
  Freely to share our little shallop’s fate,
  Rather than travel in the hell-bound ship,—­
  Too good an English sailor to desert
  Your crippled comrades,—­try to make them rest
  More easy on the thwarts.  And John, my son,
  My little shipmate, come and lean your head
  Against my knee.  Do you remember still
  The April morn in Ethelburga’s church,
  Five years ago, when side by side we kneeled
  To take the sacrament with all our men,
  Before the Hopewell left St. Catherine’s docks
  On our first voyage?  It was then I vowed
  My sailor-soul and yours to search the sea
  Until we found the water-path that leads
  From Europe into Asia. 
                          I believe
  That God has poured the ocean round His world,
  Not to divide, but to unite the lands. 
  And all the English captains that have dared
  In little ships to plough uncharted waves,—­
  Davis and Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher,
  Raleigh and Gilbert,—­all the other names,—­
  Are written in the chivalry of God
  As men who served His purpose.  I would claim
  A place among that knighthood of the sea;
  And I have earned it, though my quest should fail! 
  For, mark me well, the honour of our life
  Derives from this:  to have a certain aim
  Before us always, which our will must seek
  Amid the peril of uncertain ways. 
  Then, though we miss the goal, our search is crowned
  With courage, and we find along our path
  A rich reward of unexpected things. 
  Press towards the aim:  take fortune as it fares!

  I know not why, but something in my heart
  Has always whispered, “Westward seek your goal!”
  Three times they sent me east, but still I turned
  The bowsprit west, and felt among the floes
  Of ruttling ice along the Greenland coast,
  And down the rugged shore of Newfoundland,
  And past the rocky capes and wooded bays
  Where Gosnold sailed,—­like one who feels his way
  With outstretched hand across a darkened room,—­
  I groped among the inlets and the isles,
  To find the passage to the Land of Spice. 
  I have not found it yet,—­but I have found
  Things worth the finding! 
                            Son, have you forgot
  Those mellow autumn days, two years ago,
  When first we sent our little ship Half-Moon,—­
  The flag of Holland floating at her peak,—­