Page:Religious Poems.djvu/51



H, many-voiced and angry! how the waves

Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!

Is there no rest from tossing,—no repose?

Where shall we find a haven and a shore?

What is secure from the land-dashing wave?

There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;

There go the faces of our best beloved,

Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.

Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?

The dashing spray beats out the household fire;

By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls

Over the embers of our lost desire.