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SAINT MARGARET
Or she will gaze where, far away,
Clasp’d in an amethystine zone,
The sea and sky melt into one.
“Something’s behind that!” she will say,
“And there, I think, must be His Throne.”
By day she watches, fair and smooth,
The amethyst sea-water shine;—
By night she hears its voice, benign,
Mighty, a voice to calm and soothe.
“Father!” she murmurs, “sure ’tis Thine!”
But when the stars come too, and sing
Strange, high hymns, and wingèd beams
Troop in to vigil round her dreams,
One cry all thro’ her heart doth ring:
“God! Thou art everywhere, it seems!”
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