286 GROWLER G RIM S DREAM.
Which, pointing to the ruddy gray Of failing fire, by current stirred,
Spake low and soft, and strangely sweet ; " O mortal, thou hast greatly erred.
"Who keeps that wondrous metronome
Of beating heart without thy care ? Who keeps the body safe in sleep,
And wakes it to the morning fair? You carved your lot ? you asked for work ?
For capital your hands were all ? Who kept that right arm strong and sound ?
Who bade the rich man heed your call ?
"Behold !" The rosy ashes stirred
A country-boy stood sad and shy Before the mighty merchant-prince,
With restless hands and drooping eye. The while, until he turned, approved,
A white-winged angel waited there, Though neither boy nor master knew
The fair shape of a mother s prayer.
Again the drifting ashes shone :
" There go your ships safe to the land ; See you, above the tallest mast,
The guidance of a shining hand ? You make your boast no missing ship
Was ever marked from off your list : Who gave the wild wind to your hand
From out that mighty hollow fist?