76
A SHEAF GLEANED
I love the waters round that rise,
The ship that on its errand flies,
And all that here mine eyes behold.
Ha! There's the sea-gull. See it springs,
Pearls scattering from its tawny wings,
Then plunges in the gulfs once more:
'Tis lost in caverns of the main!
No! No! It upward soars again,
As souls from trials upward soar.
But most I love this seat—this rock,
From whence I hear the thunder-shock
Of waves eternally that moan,
Ever-renewed: methinks Remorse
Hath such a cry, and such a force—
Wail mothers thus for children gone!
