Pass we the long unvarying course, the track

Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind;

Pass we the calm—the gale—the change—the tack,

And each well known caprice of wave and wind;

Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find,

Cooped in their wingéd sea-girt citadel;

The foul—the fair—the contrary—the kind—

As breezes rise and fall and billows swell,

Till on some jocund morn—lo, Land! and All is well!