Pilgrimage

WANDERER from a fading strandUnto shadowy shores unknown,Thou whose sails are onward fannedBy flattering breezes,—hast thou plannedAll thy course alone?

Canst thou tell, now clouds beginTo gather in thy path of day,To what harbor thou shalt win,As the long night closes inOn a wider way?

Pilgrim, no: I cannot tell.Strange my course, and stormy woesAnd darkness may obscure its close;Yet I feel that all is well,For my Pilot knows!