Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/59

 This soul to me: "The seething sea,

Tossing hungry under me,

I fear to trust; the ships I fear;

I see no isle of beauty near;

The sun is blotted out—no more

'Twill shine for me on any shore."

Once more I said: "Be not afraid;

Yield to the storm without a dread;

For the tree, by tempests torn

From its native soil, is borne

Green, to where its ripened fruit

Gives a sturdy forest root.

"That which we lose, we think we choose,

Oft, from slavery to use.

Shocks that break our chains, tho' rude,

Open paths to highest good:

Wise, my sister soul, is she

Who takes of life the proffered key."

LOVE.

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