At midnight, on the trackless sea's expanse,
When all the lights on board have long been quenched,
When e'en in heav'n above there gleams no star,
Still glimmers on the deck a little lamp,
A wick protected from all gusty winds,
That shews the needle to the steerer's gaze,
Revealing most unerringly his course.
So—would we heed it—burns within our breasts
A steady light, to guide thro' every gloom.