Across the Sea and Other Poems | Page 4

the ken,
and so forever by:
And he is blest whose faithful heart hath known

And loved the name of Savior, Mother, Wife.
Thus o'er the Sea of Life my way I take,
Not waveless have its waters
been to me,
For I have known, in many a fearful hour,
The weight
and fury of the tempest's power;
But mercy e'er the sable clouds doth
break
And set the prisoned light of heaven free.
And oft, O sea, thy troubled waters cease,
Save when they smile to
hear the breeze at prayer;
Thy calm so deep that he who glideth by

May wonder which is sea and which is sky;
So full thou art of stars,
so sweet thy peace,
We seem in heaven while on thy bosom fair.
IV.--AGE.
My boat is old, for I have journeyed far,
But still the Headland seems
a weary way;
My boatmen, too, are old, and oft an oar
Slips from a
feeble hand, but yet the shore
Upon whose forehead beams the
evening star,
Is nearer still and nearer every day.
What matters that my boatmen now are old,
Why should I grieve that
with a feeble hand
I hold the swaying helm? The waves no more

Rise o'er the prow to keep me from the shore,
The silken sail at last

the breezes hold,
The tide of Love sets toward the Heavenly Land.
O flowing tide that in our autumn time
Ebbs from the world, and
bears us on thy breast,
I would to every human soul 'twere given
To
drift upon thy silver sheen to heaven;
To fall asleep, and dream, and
wake--SUBLIME,
Within the crystal harbor of The Blest.
Dear are thy urging waters, starry tide,
Forever gently flowing
heavenward;
Thine every dimple is a token sweet
That rested there
some beauteous angel's feet,
Thy sheen, a radiant carpet for the Bride,

Laid to the wedding Temple of her Lord.
Soon o'er the wave my boat no more will ride,
The music of the
dipping oar will cease,
And through the glimmering golden mist will
fall,
From the calm Headland's height, a loving call,
_Come hither,
child, forevermore abide_
_Within thy Father's House--at Home--in
Peace._
L'ENVOY.
Hark! there is music on the lovelit sea.
Music, sweet music falls upon
mine ear,
Soft as the sigh of June, when die the hours
Crimsoned
with sunset and the blush of flowers.
Dost thou not hear it? O it
seems to me
No mother's cradle-song was e'er so dear.
The music ceases. From the eastern sky,
Lo! the umbrageous clouds,
whose gloomy frown
Shadowed my youth, drift westward, dark no
more,
They float illumined o'er the heavenly shore.
Behold, they
part! and thro' their portals high
The gleams of endless glory shimmer
down.
Farewell, O Deep, nor be thy solemn bell
Jarred as I go by grief's
tumultuous blast.
Farewell, ye winds, for me ye ne'er again
Will fret
the bosom of the restless main.
To thee, O Barge of Time, a long
farewell,
Sweet voices call me. I am home at last.

Give ear, O Earth, the honeyed air again
Swells with the rapture of
the heavenly shore;
And I am singing as I upward pass
Upon the
"sea of mingled fire and glass,"
To Him who Loved and gave Himself
for Men,
Be Glory, Honor, Power, Forevermore.
THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.
Inscribed to
Robert Collyer.
THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.
We seem within a pleasant vale to dwell,
Whose boundary knows the
early summer's spell,
And where, in leafy tabernacle, June
Hears
not the mandate of the waning moon.
The river bank and hill-side of
the vale,
And orchard fruitage streaked with morning pale,
Grow
rosy with the rosy summer hours.
Green is the dewy turf and gay with
flowers.
The morning sky is azure; we behold
The white clouds
sleeping on the eastern hill,
At eve--a fleecy flock--they follow still

The shepherd sun upon his path of gold.
Sweet is the air, and peace is
everywhere:
Save that in distant skies beyond our time
We mark
the vivid shafts of lightning fly,
Shot from the twanging bow of
thunder where
The sky is bright with pale auroral light,
Framed in
by darkness; there we view
The stern death-struggling of armed
hosts--
The smoke of burning cities--martyr fires--
Towers toppling
to ruin, palaces,
Vast columned temples, and triumphal arch,
Fair
hanging gardens, walls magnificent,
Resolved to dust by time--as
summer's sun
Resolves again a fleecy cloud to mist.
Yet sometimes
even here the spectral light
Broadens and brightens into sunny day,

And the soft winds (the sweeter for the war
Of elements,) blow
thence to us Legends,--
Traditions fair of noble hearts as true,
Of
honor pure, of love as sacred--deep--
Of valor great--of homes as fair
and dear,

As fresher, better modern days have known.
I love the

Legend of the Sleepers Seven,
Which comes from days so near the
Manger--Cross,
It seems to me a tale of Holy Writ.
When Decius sate upon the Roman Throne,
And made his empire red
with Christian blood,
Seven noble youths who dwelt at Ephesus

(Noble in birth and every Christian grace)
Refused to heed the
Imperial will and bow
Themselves in worship to the pagan gods,

Preferring the reproach of Christ, to all
The wealth and honor of the
Court of Rome;
And thus before the Royal Tyrant (who
It chanced
was then at Ephesus) the youths
Bore witness