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.

Twlight and evening bell, and after that the dark.
And may there be no sadness of farewell, when I embark;

For tho' 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 crossed the bar.
Alfred Tennyson