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What pen can well report the plight
Of those that travel on the seas?
To pass the weary winter's night,
With stormy clouds, wishing for day;
With waves that toss them to and fro,
Their poor estate is hard to show.

When boistering winds begin to blow
On cruel coasts, from haven we;
The foggy mist so dims the shore
That rocks and sands we may not see;
Nor have no room on seas to try,
But pray to God and yield to die.

When shoa......

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