A mighty sea, on right and left, or starboard-port you see The waves not high, the wind just swift, seems satisfactory. But straight ahead, the sky is dark, and from the sky are bolts The clouds are turning darker still, the horizon terror coats. The barque is tossed, the wind is sharp, the sea turns to a stew. The hands take hold, the feet are braced, by passengers and crew. Why fret this course, we’ve chosen here, we sail complacently, Why question now, our past provides, we’ll arrive assuredly. Ah yes! for sure, a sigh is let, from all...