In no secret shrine doth my Lady sleep, But is ever before mine eyes; By well or ill, by wrong or right-- By the burning sun, or the moon's pale light-- Where the tropics fire or the fulmar flies, In rest or stormful fight.
II.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow; Man holdeth the world in fee. By the light of her face, by my Lady's grace, Spread we our sails to the sea. With God above and our hearts below, Fight we the fight for weal or woe.
III.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow, God rest their souls who die! By my Lady's grace, by her pure, pale face My pennon flies in its pride of place; Where my pennon flies am I.
IV.
Nor wind nor storm may turn me back, For I see the beacon fire. And time shall yield a hard fought field, And, with God's help, an unstained shield I win my heart's desire.