The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fond mother, with thy wakeful ear,
Hark, how the storm-blasts through the welkin roll!
Thunder alarms the breast of guilty Fear,
And arrowy lightnings glance from pole to pole.

Louder and louder sweeps the gale!
Fierce, full, and large, the hissing rain-drops fall;
And midnight Terror, with emotion pale,
Begins in secret on her God to call.

Calm as a flower yon nursling lies,
Rock'd into silence on thy cradling breast;
Yet doth thy bosom heave with unheard sighs
Which move the spirit into sad unrest.

But not for thy domestic bower,
Or those who sleep within its guardian-shade,
Art thou awake at this convulsive hour
To hear the crash wild Elements have made.

Yet rides thy heart the rolling deep,
Toss'd on huge billows in tumultuous swell,
And voiceless tremors through thy bosom creep
For thy lone sea-boy, loved at home so well!

But lately, on thy breast he lay
His head in fondness, parting for the sea,
And would not brush the manly tear away
Which flow'd from boyhood, and which fell on thee.

And now, amid the shrouds aloft,
Perchance he grapples with the creaking mast;
Yet can Remembrance hear a blessing soft,
And feel thine arms maternal round him cast.

Mother! The Church confronts the waves;
Her litanies can lull their angry roar;
And He who watcheth o'er the ocean-graves
Can make the sea as tranquil as the shore.

Christ on the waters, forms a Home
For all who trust Him in the tempest wild,
Far as the pilgrims of the deep can roam,
Or billows lullaby a sea-born child.

Safe is thy darling in this hour,
Dearer to Heaven, than mother's heart can know;
Calmly entrust him to that sleepless Power,
Deepen thy prayers, but let not doubts o'erflow.

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Mirthful and bright, thy sea-boy ran
Around thee once, though garden, grove, and field;
But now, emerging into ripen'd man,
Conscience and creed their sainted influence wield.

Precious, yon Bible!—'twas thy boon;
And, mother, where thy parting tear-gush fell,
Oft on the deck, beneath the sacred moon
He reads the warnings thou hast scored so well.

And that high book of hallow'd Prayer
A treasured sister gave, with farewell-kiss,
Oft will he clasp it on the ocean there,
And hail the sabbath as a holy bliss.

God of the winds, and waves, and seas!
Whom all the vassal Elements obey,
Whether by palmy shores the placid breeze
Soft as a seraph-wing, descends to play,

Or tempests heave the mountain-surge,
Flashing with foam beneath some lurid glare
While the drench'd mariners the vessel urge,
We thank Thee for our oceanic prayer!

Or, when the booming death-guns pour
Peal after peal, redoubling as they roll,
Or Victory shouts her patriotic roar
Of loud huzzahs from seaman's gallant soul,

Lord of the Deep! by Thee inspired,
Our Church for each some high-breathed prayer imparts;
That they whom Valour hath for conquest fired,
Should have the Prince of Peace to hush their hearts.

Seldom can inland-worship prove
Toned with such tenderness, divine as deep,
Like God's own halcyon calming from above
The wailing Hearts which o'er some lost one weep,

As when beneath the trancèd air
While moonbeams like a shroud enrobe the wave,
Soft fall the tones of that funereal Prayer
When parts the billow for a seaman's grave.

Tearful the watching comrades stand,
For round a dead One how intense the spell!—
Brushing large tear-drops with a rough-worn hand,
They look, but cannot speak, the word, “farewell.”

Peace to the Dead! he waits his hour
When the last trumpet shall untomb yon sea,
And with such life-blast all the waves o'erpower,
That risen dust shall soar to Deity.