Crossing the Bar

CROSSING THE BAR

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

written 1889 by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

(the illustration above was published in Punch magazine on 15 October 1892, nine days after Tennyson\’s death)

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Advice from Marine Safety Victoria:

What is a bar?

A bar is an accumulation of sand or silt at the entrance of a river, creek, lake or harbour.
Examples of bars located in Victorian waters are: Port Phillip Heads, Lakes Entrance, Patterson River, Anderson’s Inlet, Barwon Heads, McLaughlins Beach, Port Albert.

WHY ARE BARS DANGEROUS?

Conditions prevailing on a bar can cause steep and often breaking seas. For this reason it is important to take a number of precautions and manoeuvre the vessel with extreme caution.
Crossing a bar is a job for an experienced vessel handler.

EXERCISE EXTREME CAUTION

Conditions on a bar change quickly and without warning. The skipper’s experience and vessel type should be taken into account when a bar crossing is considered. No amount of experience or boat type makes crossing a bar safe when the conditions are marginal or adverse. No situation warrants taking the risk.

If In Doubt – Don’t Go Out. Once started, you are committed to crossing the bar.

The Passionate Man’s Pilgrimage

pilgrims at Santiago de Compostela, Spain

The Passionate Man’s Pilgrimage

by Sir Walter Ralegh

[Supposed to be written by one at the point of death]

Give me my scallop shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon,

My scrip of joy, immortal diet,

My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,

And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body’s balmer,

No other balm will there be given,

Whilst my soul, like a white palmer,

Travels to the land of heaven;

Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar fountains;

And there I’ll kiss

The bowl of bliss,

And drink my eternal fill

On every milken hill.

My soul will be a-dry before,

But after it will ne’er thirst more;

And by the happy blissful way

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,

That have shook off their gowns of clay,

And go apparelled fresh like me.

I’ll bring them first

To slake their thirst,

And then to taste those nectar suckets,

At the clear wells

Where sweetness dwells,

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

And when our bottles and all we

Are fill’d with immortality,

Then the holy paths we’ll travel,

Strew’d with rubies thick as gravel,

Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,

High walls of coral, and pearl bowers.

From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall

Where no corrupted voices brawl,

No conscience molten into gold,

Nor forg’d accusers bought and sold,

No cause deferr’d, nor vain-spent journey,

For there Christ is the king’s attorney,

Who pleads for all without degrees,

And he hath angels, but no fees.

When the grand twelve million jury

Of our sins and sinful fury,

’Gainst our souls black verdicts give,

Christ pleads his death, and then we live.

Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,

Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder,

Thou movest salvation even for alms,

Not with a bribed lawyer’s palms.

And this is my eternal plea

To him that made heaven, earth, and sea,

Seeing my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,

Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread,

Set on my soul an everlasting head.

Then am I ready, like a palmer fit,

To tread those blest paths which before I writ.

(photo – pilgrims at Santiago de Compostela, Spain)

Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh, on death

Aître Saint-Maclou in Rouen

Death is the touchstone of our attitude to life. People who are afraid of death are afraid of life. It is impossible not to be afraid of life with all its complexity and dangers if one is afraid of death. This means that to solve the problem of death is not a luxury. If we are afraid of death we will never be prepared to take ultimate risks; we will spend our life in a cowardly, careful and timid manner. It is only if we can face death, make sense of it, determine its place and our place in regard to it that we will be able to live in a fearless way and to the fulness of our ability. Too often we wait until the end of our life to face death, whereas we would have lived quite differently if only we had faced death at the outset.

There is a patristic injunction, constantly repeated over the centuries, that we should be mindful of death throughout our life. But if such a thing is repeated to modern man, who suffers from timidity, and from the loss of faith and experience which prevails in our time, he will think he is called upon to live under the shadow of death, in a condition of gloom, haunted always by the fear that death is on its way and that then there will be no point in having lived. And death, if remembered constantly and deeply, would act as a sword of Damocles for him, suspended over his head by a hair, preventing the enjoyment of life and the fulfilment of it. Such an approach to the saying must be rejected. We need to understand mindfulness of death in its full significance: as an enhancement of life, not a diminution of it.

Read entire article at http://www.metropolit-anthony.orc.ru/eng/eng_06.htm