hty strong at first, an' goes out, an' nary mite o' pity in it.
But thar' ain't no pity 'ithout love; and it's a love 't ain't no
fine-spun thread, but a ten-inch hawser; a love 't stands by ye when
thar' 's a trackless path afore and a lost trail ahind; when ye're
scuddin' afore the squall, an' the seas come thunderin' down on ye;
when yer boat 's in splinters, and ye're a-bitin' the sand. Yis, an'
when yer cruisin' 's all done at las', an' ye're jest a poor old hulk
around in the way, driftin' in an' out 'ith the tides, 't calls out to
ye, as ef ye was somebody, 'Ship ahoy! What port?'

"An' ye says, kind o' hopin', but not darin' nothin', 'The port as they
calls Heaven.'

"An' 't shouts back to ye, strong across the wave, 'What are ye
doubtin', man? That 's a port sure! and home 's thar, and folks 's
thar, and the little children ye lost is thar. D'ye want a pilot?'

"'Ay, ay, sir!--ay, ay, sir!'"

The deep voice sank in tears, then broke out again:

"Git under the lee o' the wrack!

"For days an' nights once, in a storm 't I shall never forgit, we
pulled under the lee o' a wracked vessel, 'n' no other way could we 'a'
been saved.

"An' it was so, 't, in this sea o' life, all open ter the winds o'
sorrer an' temptation, Christ come down, an' He giv' up joy an' a safe
harbor, 'n' all that, jest ter be made a wrack on, so 't we might git
under His lee, an' foller safe.

"It 's the great Breakwater o' the seas; don't ye fear but it 's a safe
one!

"Young man, I know 't ye think o' somethin' more'n this, an' vary
diffur'nt from this, a-startin' out each one in his clipper-bark, gay
an' hunky in every strand, 'ith a steady follerin' breeze, an'
everythin' set from skysail pole to the water's edge.

"All right! ye are the lad for me; ye can pull side an' feather
stroke; ye can cl'ar a tops'l reef-tackle when the sail is full, ye are
the lad for me. Steer bold; only steer true, by night an' day. I wish
't ye might no' meet wi' fogs an' icebergs an' collisions an' gales----

"An' yit, I wish it not. The sea an' the storm is jest to teach us t'
git under the lee o' the great wrack o' Love an' Pity, 't made hisself
lost for us; ay, an' so to make a wrack o' our own happiness for the
poor an' weak, 't's out a-tossin' shelterless, to lead 'em to the true
Breakwater. That 's life, that 's the sea, that 's the lesson. Till
we pass on, up the roads, into the harbor----"

The old mariner's voice failed him;