Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/15

 Now, on, my steeds; the lightning's flash

An instant gilds our way;

But steady! by that fearful crash

The heavens seem rent away.

Soho, here comes the blast anew,

And a pelting flood of rain;

Steady! a sea seems bursting through

A rift in some upper main.

'Tis a terrible night, a dreary hour,

But who will remember to pray

That the care of the storm-controlling power

Be over the post-boy's way?

The wayward wanderer from his home,

The sailor upon the sea,

Have prayers to bless them where they roam—

Who thinketh to pray for me?

The storm has passed. Up swims the moon

Like a stately ship at sea;

Now on, my steeds! this brilliant noon

Of a night so black shall be

A scene for us. Toss high your heads,

And merrily speed away,

We shall startle the sleepers in their beds

Before the dawn of day.

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