Page:Poems for the Sea.djvu/20

 Are his appliances. No echoing voice Of Sabbath-bell, across the billowy waste Calleth the peasant, with his little ones Up to God's courts; no chant of tuneful choir Softeneth his pupils, and no fervent prayer For their misdeeds, from interceding Love Outlasts the night-watch. Oft indulgent Earth Fits her frail child for Death's most fear'd embrace, By holiest ministries around his bed, Until her loosening links unclasp and fall, In scarce perceptible, and calm decline, Without a murmuring moan. And then she opes Her matron breast, for his long, dreamless sleep, And covers him with flowers. It is not so With Ocean, in his sterner discipline. His tender mercies, are the sad, lone plunge Down to his caves, where scaly monsters gaze A moment on the guest, with stony eyes, Then leave him to an unwept sepulchre, Until the day of doom.