Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, / Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

And he said, Put thine hand into thy bosom again. And he put his hand into his bosom again; and plucked it out of his bosom, and, behold, it was turned again as his other flesh.

Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.

I am standing upon the seashore.A ship at my side spreads her whitesails to the morning breeze and startsfor the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.Then, someone at my side says;"There, she is gone!""Gone where?"Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.Her diminished size is in me, not in her.And just at the moment when someoneat my side says, "There, she is gone!"There are other eyes watching her coming,and other voices ready to take up the gladshout;"Here she comes!"And that is dying.

This ship is righted again, I think, and we've got the wind in our sails.