Behind him lay the gray Azores,
  Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores;
  Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now we must pray,
  For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l speak: what shall I say?"
  "Why, say: 'Sail on, sail on, and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day;
  My men grow ghastly, wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
  Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say,
  If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day:
  'Sail on, sail on, sail on, and on!"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
  Until at last the blanched mate said:
Why, now not even God would know
  Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
  For God from those dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l, speak and say—
  He said: "Sail on, sail on, and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
  "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
  He lifts his teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word:
  What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
  "Sail on, sail on, sail on, and on!"

Then pale and worn, he paced the deck,
  And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck—
  A light! A light! At last a light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
  It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
  Its grandest lesson: On! sail on!"