Venus has lit her silver lamp
Low in the purple West,
Casting a soft and mellow light
Upon the sea’s full breast;
In one clear path—as if to guide
Some pale, wayfaring guest.
Far out, far out the restless bar
Starts from a troubled sleep,
Where, roaring through the narrow straits,
The meeting waters leap;
But still that shining pathway leads
Across the lonely deep.
When I sail out the narrow straits
Where unknown dangers be,
And cross the troubled, moaning bar
To the mysterious sea,
Dear God, wilt thou not set a lamp
Low in the West for me?