Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/301

 IIVOTIOAL. 291 With what joy doe he. gret. the., his Sadour, hi Strgth, With what perfect composure he aks on thy breast! His warfare is closed for the day's weury length, He is one day more near to his haven of rest. COMPOSED ON TRIg SIgA-SHORIg. WItIL here aloug the shore I wind, And view the ocean roll, Too true an emblem I can find Of my perturbed soul; For tho', sometimes, when storms are spent, More calmly heaves it's breast, 'Tis still the same wild element, It ne'er can wholly rest. Ev'n joy, as transientsun-beams pass O'er broken waves below, Still finds me trembling, and, alas, Too often leaves me so *. ......... Google

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