Tell us that all, for one who fell, Must perish in the mingling storm?
Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Yet doom his brother to expire, Whose soul a different hope supplies, Or doctrines less severe inspire?
Shall these, by creeds they can't expound, Prepare a fancied bliss or woe? Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, Their great Creator's purpose know?
Shall those who live for self alone, Whose years float on in daily crime, Shall they by faith for guilt atone, And live beyond the bounds of time?
Father! no prophet's laws I seek; Thy laws in Nature's works appear; I own myself corrupt and weak ; Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear!
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of ether's space; Who calm'st the elemental war,
Whose hand from pole to pole I trace;
Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence,
-Ah! while I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me thy wide defence.
To thee, my God, to thee I call! Whatever weal or woe betide, By thy command I rise or fall; In thy protection I confide.
If, when this dust to dust's restored, My soul shall float on airy wing, How shall thy glorious name adored Inspire her feeble voice to sing!
But, if this fleeting spirit share
With clay the grave's eternal bed, While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, Though doomed no more to quit the dead.
To thee I breathe my humble strain, Grateful for all thy mercies past,
And hope, my God, to thee again This erring life may fly at last.
IN the west, the weary Day
Folds its amber wings and dies; Night, the long delaying Night, Walks abroad in starry guise.
Rest more precious than a sleep, Silence sweeter than a dream, · These enfold me as I float,
Idle waif on idle stream.
In the rippling trees I hear Flowing waves and dripping oars; And beloved voices near,
Seem to steal from fading shores.
Fainter, fainter, fainter still,
By no breath of passion crossed, With the tide I drift and glide
WE were crowded in the cabin; Not a soul would dare to speak; It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep.
'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered in the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"
So we shuddered there in silence, For the stoutest held his breath While the angry sea was roaring, And the breakers talked with Death.
And thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy in his prayers: "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand, "Is not God upon the ocean
Just the same as on the land ?"
Then we kissed the little maiden, And we spoke in better cheer, And we anchored safe in harbor When the morn was shining clear
TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the under world; Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge!
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
THE night wind with a desolate moan swept by; And the old shutters of the turret swung Screaming upon their hinges; and the moon, As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes So dimly, that the watchful eye of death Scarcely was conscious when it went and came.
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