Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/96

96  Safe toward the haven.—Deep that thrilling prayer Sank down into my bosom, like a spring Of comfort and of joy.—All else was gone,— Ambition,—glory,—friendship,—earthly hope.— But firm devotion, like a sentinel, Waking and watching round the parting soul, Gave it the soldier's shield, and pilgrim's staff For its returnless journey.—When I saw This triumph of our faith,—this gem, that glow'd Bright mid the dross of man's infirmity, Low on the earth I laid my lip, and said. "Oh, let me with the righteous die!—and be My end like his."

 

Her path was on the briny deep; Yet no white sail propell'd her course, Nor measured oar with graceful sweep Urged her to stem the billow's force; Self-moved, with fleecy track she past, Disdaining in her pride To woo the breeze or shun the blast, Or wait the rolling tide; While boldly to the sky Her ensign, wreathing high, Inwrought with volumed smoke, and sparkling flame, she cast. 