In memory of Milard Graham, Jr. on the anniversary of his passing, December 5.

As moves my fragile bark across the storm-swept sea,

Great waves beat o'er her side, as north wind blows;

Deep in the darkness hid lie theat'ning rocks and shoals;

But all of these, and more, my Pilot knows.

Sometimes when dark the night, and every light gone out,

I wonder to what port my frail ship goes;

Still though the night be long, and restless all my hours,

My distant goal, I'm sure, my Pilot knows . . .