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Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
Then leaped her cable's length.
And do not tremble so;
That ever wind did blow."
Against the stinging blast;
And bound her to the mast. “O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
O say, what may it be?" "'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"
And he steered for the open sea. “O father! I hear the sound of guns,
In such an angry sea!”
O say, what may it be?"
A frozen corpse was he.
With his face turned to the skies,
On his fixed and glassy eyes.
That savéd she might be:
On the Lake of Galilee.
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.
A sound came from the land;
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
She drifted a dreary wreck,
Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool ;
Like the horns of an angry bull.
With the masts went by the board ;
Ho! ho! the breakers roared !
A fisherman stood aghast,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
The salt tears in her eyes ;
On the billows fall and rise.
In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe!
292.—AT THE LAST.
JAS. B. BENSEE.
A sweet fruition from the harrowed past;
A tender sunbeam and dear flowers at last. There will be something when these days are done,
Something more fair by far than starry nightsA prospect limitless, as one by one
Embodied castles crown the airy heights. So cheer up, heart, and for that morrow wait!
Dream what you will, but press toward the dream ; Let fancy guide dull effort through the gate,
And face the current, would she cross the stream. Then when that something lies athwart the way,
Coming unsought, as good things seem to do'Twill prove beneath the flash of setting day
A nobler meed than now would beckon you. For lifted up by constant, forward strife,
Hope will attain so marvelous a height, There can be nothing found within this life,
After this day to form a fitting night.
So Heaven alone shall ever satisfy,
And God's own light be ever light enough To guide the purified, ennobled eye
Toward the smooth which lies beyond the rough. There will be something when these clouds skim by
A bounteous yielding from the fruitful past; Sweet peace and rest upon the pathway lie,
E'en though but death and flowers at the last.
293.—A MORNING HYMN.
BY JOHN MILTON. These are thy glorious works, parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lower works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels'; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne, rejoicing; ye, in heaven, On earth, join all ye creatures to extol Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world, both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou falls't; Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st, With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies; And ye five other wand'ring fires that move In mystic dance, not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
294.—THE CHILD IN THE JUDGMENT SEAT.
MRS. E. R. CHARLES. Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart,
That thy brow is burdened and sad ?
But it leaves the spirit glad.
Or scorched with the mid-day glare ?
That thy face is so full of care ?
I have sate on the judgment seat,
The children around his feet."
Sweetheart, who set thee there?
And well might fill thee with care. “I climbed on the judgment seat myself;
I have sate there alone all day,
For it grieved me to see the children around,
Idling their life away. “They wasted the Master's precious seed,
They wasted the precious hours; They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruit,
And they trampled the sweet meek flowers." And what didst thou on the judgment seat,
Sweetheart, what didst thou there? Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ?
Did the garden mend for thy care ?
But they left me there forlorn;
Or they laughed my words to scorn.”
The servants were not thine ; And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame,
See farther than thine or mine.
Will not strive nor cry to be heard;
And none will resist its word.
The gifts that should feed his poor,
And not be grievéd sore ?"
Wait till the evening falls ;
Wait till the Master calls.
Whilst thou sat on the judgment seat ?
And kept them from careless feet? “Nay! that is saddest of all to me,
That is saddest of all !
My lilies droop and fall.”
Go back till the evening falls,
Till for thee the Master calls.
Thou workest never alone ;
Will see it, and mend his own.