Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor--
The shepherd of that wandering flock,
That has the ocean for its wold, That has the vessel for its fold, Leaping ever from rock to rock-- Spake, with accents mild and clear, Words of warning, words of cheer, But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. He knew the chart
Of the sailor's heart,
All its pleasures and its griefs, All its shallows and rocky reefs,
All those secret currents, that flow
With such resistless undertow,
And lift and drift, with terrible force,
The will from its moorings and its course. Therefore he spake, and thus said he:-- "Like unto ships far off at sea,
Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around,
Floats and swings the horizon's bound, Seems at its distant rim to rise
And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink,
As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah! it is not the sea,
It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, But ourselves
That rock and rise
With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies,
Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring, Ever level and ever true
To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be those of joy and not of fear!"
Then the Master,
With a gesture of command, Waved his hand;
And at the word,
Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below,
The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs.
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And see! she stirs!
She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,
And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound,
She leaps into the ocean's arms! And lo! from the assembled crowd
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, That to the ocean seemed to say,
"Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, Take her to thy protecting arms,
With all her youth and all her charms!" How beautiful she is! How fair
She lies within those arms, that press
Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care! Sail forth into the sea, O ship!
Through wind and wave, right onward steer! The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life,
O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be!
For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives! Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'T is of the wave and not the rock;
'T is but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,--are all with thee! SEAWEED
When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,
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Laden with seaweed from the rocks: From Bermuda's reefs; from edges
Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore; From Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador;
From the tumbling surf, that buries
The Orkneyan skerries, Answering the hoarse Hebrides;
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars, uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas;-- Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main;
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches
Of sandy beaches,
All have found repose again.
So when storms of wild emotion
Strike the ocean
Of the poet's soul, erelong
From each cave and rocky fastness, In its vastness,
Floats some fragment of a song: Front the far-off isles enchanted,
Heaven has planted
With the golden fruit of Truth;
From the flashing surf, whose vision
Gleams Elysian
In the tropic clime of Youth;
From the strong Will, and the Endeavor
That forever
Wrestle with the tides of Fate
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, Tempest-shattered,
Floating waste and desolate;-- Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless heart; Till at length in books recorded,
They, like hoarded
Household words, no more depart. CHRYSAOR
Just above yon sandy bar,
As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star
Lights the air with a dusky glimmer
Into the ocean faint and far
Falls the trail of its golden splendor, And the gleam of that single star
Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. Chrysaor, rising out of the sea,
Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe,
Forever tender, soft, and tremulous. Thus o'er the ocean faint and far
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Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly; Is it a God, or is it a star
That, entranced, I gaze on nightly! THE SECRET OF THE SEA
Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic legends,