Remember, Lord, My Ship Is

Now, It It Well Known That One Cannot Step On A Tack Without Saying Something About It.

The Days Pass Happily With Me Wherever My Ship Sails.

About Midnight The Fog Shut Down Again Denser Than Before. One Could Almost "stand On It." It Continued So For A Number Of Days, The Wind Increasing To A Gale. The Waves Rose High, But I Had A Good Ship. Still, In The Dismal Fog I Felt Myself Drifting Into Loneliness, An Insect On The Straw In The Midst Of The Elements.

But Where, After All, Would Be The Poetry Of The Sea Were There No Wild Waves?

Was The Crew Well? Was I Not? I Had Profited In Many Ways By The Voyage. I Had Even Gained Flesh, And Actually Weighed A Pound More Than When I Sailed From Boston.