Do you hear the of death afar, The call midst the fire-floods and poisonous clouds
—The Captain’s call to the steersman to turn the ship to an unnamed shore,
For that time is over—the time in the port—
Where the same old merchandise is bought and sold in an endless round,
Where dead things drift in the and emptiness of truth.
They wake up in sudden fear and ask,
“Comrades, what hour has struck?
When shall the dawn begin?”
The clouds have away the stars—
Who is there then can see the finger of the day?
They run out with in hand, the beds are emptied, the mother prays, the wife watches by the door;
There is a of parting that rises to the sky,
And there is the Captain’s voice in the dark:
“Come, sailors, for the time in the harbour is over!”
 
All the black evils in the world have their banks,
Yet, oarsmen, take your places with the of sorrow in your souls!
Whom do you blame, brothers? Bow your heads down!
The sin has been yours and ours.
The heat growing in the heart of God for ages—
The of the weak, the of the strong, the greed of fat prosperity, the ra............