 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Charade No. 14.
Heard ye the long, low roar
Blend with the sea-mew's cry?
Saw ye the nearing shore
Where the white foam-wreaths lie?
O wait, seaman, wait while the tempest shall last,
For my first is a danger thou hast not passed.
Blend with the sea-mew's cry?
Saw ye the nearing shore
Where the white foam-wreaths lie?
O wait, seaman, wait while the tempest shall last,
For my first is a danger thou hast not passed.
How shall the seaman wait?
There stands his white-walled home,
From its blithely opened gate
Never more need he roam.
My second he brings from a distant realm,
And leaves he for ever the weary helm.
There stands his white-walled home,
From its blithely opened gate
Never more need he roam.
My second he brings from a distant realm,
And leaves he for ever the weary helm.
On! for the tide ebbs fast!
On! for the night grows dark,
But the cold wave-arms are cast
Round the seaman's sinking bark.
He makes my whole with the angry sea,—
Thine be the gold, so my life go free!
On! for the night grows dark,
But the cold wave-arms are cast
Round the seaman's sinking bark.
He makes my whole with the angry sea,—
Thine be the gold, so my life go free!
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |