1 This is the midnight—let no star Delude us—dawn is very far. This is the tempest long foretold— Slow to make head but sure to hold. 2 Stand by! The lull ’twixt blast and blast Signals the storm is near, not past; And worse than present jeopardy May our forlorn to-morrow be. 3 If we have cleared the expectant reef, Let no man look for his relief. Only the darkness hides the shape Of further peril to escape. 4 It is decreed that we abide The weight of gale against the tide And those huge waves the outer main Sends in to set us back again. 5 They fall and whelm. We strain to hear The pulses of her labouring gear, Till the deep throb beneath us proves, After each shudder and check, she moves! 6 She moves, with all save purpose lost, To make her offing from the coast; But, till she fetches open sea. Let no man deem that he is free!
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