ON THE ATLANTIC

Who stood upon that schooner's driven deck Last night as reefed and shuddering she hove Into the twilight and all desperate drove From wave to angrier wave that sought her wreck? Who labored at her helm and watched the wind Stagger the sea with all his stunning might, Until in dimness dwindling from our sight She vanished in the wrack that rode behind? We know not, you and I, but our two souls That followed as storm-petrels o'er the waves Felt all the might of Him who sinks or saves, And all the pity of earth's unreached goals. Felt all—then swift returning to our love Dwelt in its peace, uplifted safe above.

To sit by a silent stream, Watching water-lilies dream: While breezes winnow The floating seeds, And the aery minnow Weaves his wavy web among the reeds. Where a fallen sycamore Whitely arches a pathway o'er, And shadows darkle The lambent cool, As, softly a-sparkle. Sunbeams arrow lightnings thro the pool. Where the everlasting's breath Odors mysteries of death. Where iron-weeds, rusted Leaf and pod, By insects dusted, Rustle—then in autumn sadness nod. To sit ... till every sense Lose thought of whither and whence; Till earth and heaven And faith and fate No longer leaven Life, with hope or fear, or love or hate.