Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
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A STORM SONG. |
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 | Old Year Leaves |  |
13
A STORM SONG.
The surges in anger are beating
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
Most sternly the billows are breaking
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
The wild wailing wind that is blowing,
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
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All these, and much more now oppress me
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
The ships in the bay are so swaying,
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
As the gale is against them completely;
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The storm is now spent and departed
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
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How wondrous it is that Creation
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Can it be that when Man in his madness
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
| Old Year Leaves | |