Ill thoughts breed fear, and fear ill words; but these The Gods turn from us that have kept their law. Let us lift up the strength of our hearts in song, [_Str._ 1. And our souls to the height of the darkling day. If the wind in our eyes blow blood for spray, Be the spirit that breathes in us life more strong, Though the prow reel round and the helm point wrong, And sharp reefs whiten the shoreward way. 1290 For the steersman time sits hidden astern, [_Ant._ 1. With dark hand plying the rudder of doom, And the surf-smoke under it flies like fume As the blast shears off and the oar-blades churn The foam of our lives that to death return, Blown back as they break to the gulfing gloom. What cloud upon heaven is arisen, what shadow, what sound, [_Str._ 2. From the world beyond earth, from the night underground, That scatters from wings unbeholden the weight of its darkness around? For the sense of my spirit is broken, and blinded its eye, [_Ant._ 2. 1300 As the soul of a sick man ready to die, With fear of the hour that is on me, with dread if an end be not nigh. O Earth, O Gods of the land, have ye heart now to see and to hear [_Str._ 3. What slays with terror mine eyesight and seals mine ear? O fountains of streams everlasting, are all ye not shrunk up and withered for fear? Lo, night is arisen on the noon, and her hounds are in quest by day, [_Ant._ 3. And the world is fulfilled of the noise of them crying for their prey, And the sun's self stricken in heaven, and cast out of his course as a blind man astray. From east to west of the south sea-line [_Str._ 4. Glitters the lightning of spears that shine; 1310 As a storm-cloud swoln that comes up from the skirts of the sea By the wind for helmsman to shoreward ferried, So black behind them the live storm serried Shakes earth with the tramp of its foot, and the terror to be. Shall the sea give death whom the land gave birth? [_Ant._ 4. O Earth, fair mother, O sweet live Earth, Hide us again in thy womb from the waves of it, help us or hide. As a sword is the heart of the God thy brother, But thine as the heart of a new-made mother, To deliver thy sons from his ravin, and rage of his tide. 1320 O strong north wind, the pilot of cloud and rain, [_Str._ 5. For the gift we gave thee what gift hast thou given us again? O God dark-winged, deep-throated, a terror to forth-faring ships by night,