Faith falters not e'en when the tempest raves.

"Hence, when such maddened tempests rave, I cannot rest at home, For then the billows deck his grave With flowers of snow-white foam; And here I pray till break of day Beneath night's starless dome.

Along the eaves the night-wind brushes, And through far trees the tempest rushes Bird Wood's the name that forest bears, Where rude old Winter raves and tears.

At the end of this yoke is a round iron projection, made to fit into a socket in the upper rave of the boat.