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Colder and louder blew the wind,
Down came the storm, and smote amain,
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so,
For I can weather the roughest gale,
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.
"O father! I hear the church bells ring,
O say, what may it be?"
""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea.
"O father! I hear the sound of guns,
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
"O father! I see a gleaming light, O say what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave, On the lake of Galilee.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
And ever the fitful gusts between
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
She struck where the white and fleecy waves
But the cruel rocks they gored her side
Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice,
At day-break on the bleak sea-beach,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
Christ save us all from a death like this,
XXIV. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
"AND I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened which is the book of life; and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works."-Rev. xx. 12 and 13.
WHAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold
-Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Yet more! the billows and the depths have more!
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
POEMS OF LOVE OF NATURE.
I. THE STUDY OF NATURE.
"THERE is something in the contemplation of general laws which powerfully persuades us to merge individual feeling, and to commit ourselves unreservedly to their disposal; while the observations of the calm energetic regularity of nature, the immense scale of her operations, and the certainty with which her ends are attained, tend irresistibly to tranquillize and reassure the mind, and render it less accessible to repining, selfish and turbulent emotions. And this it does, not by debasing our nature into weak compliances and abject submission to circumstances, but by filling us, as from an inward spring, with a sense of nobleness and power, which enables us to rise superior to them, by showing us our strength and innate dignity, and by calling upon us for the exercise of those powers and faculties by which we are susceptible of the comprehension of so much greatness, and which form, as it were, the link between ourselves and the best and noblest benefactors of our species, with whom we hold communion in thoughts and participate in discoveries which have raised them above their fellow-mortals, and brought them nearer to their Creator."-Sir John Herschel.
NATURE never did betray
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
II. THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.
"THE world was made to be inhabited by beasts, but studied and contemplated by man; it is the debt of our reason we owe unto God, and the homage we pay for not being beasts; without this, the world is still as though it had not been, or as it was before the sixth day, when as yet there was not a creature that could conceive, or say there was a world. The wisdom of God receives small honour from those vulgar heads that rudely stare about, and with a gross rusticity admire his works; those highly magnifying him whose judicious inquiry into his acts, and deliberate research into his creatures, return the duty of a devout and learned admiration.”—Sir Thomas Browne.
THE Ocean looketh up to heaven,
The homage of its waves is given
They kneel upon the sloping sand,
They pour the glittering treasures out
The green earth sends its incense up
That greeteth the sunshine.
The mists are lifted from the rills,
Like the white wing of prayer;
The forest tops are lowly cast