 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST.
(St. Matthew viii. 24–27.)
Midnight was on the mighty deep,
And darkness filled the boundless sky,
While 'mid the raging wind was heard
The sea-bird's mournful cry;
For tempest clouds were mustering wrath
Across the seaman's trackless path.
And darkness filled the boundless sky,
While 'mid the raging wind was heard
The sea-bird's mournful cry;
For tempest clouds were mustering wrath
Across the seaman's trackless path.
It came at length; one fearful gust
Rent from the mast the shivering sail,
And drove the helpless bark along,
The plaything of the gale;
While fearfully the lightning's glare
Fell on the pale brows gathered there.
Rent from the mast the shivering sail,
And drove the helpless bark along,
The plaything of the gale;
While fearfully the lightning's glare
Fell on the pale brows gathered there.
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But there was One o'er whose bright face
Unmarked the vivid lightnings flashed;
And on whose stirless, prostrate form
Unfelt the sea-spray dashed;
For 'mid the tempest fierce and wild,
He slumbered like a wearied child.
Unmarked the vivid lightnings flashed;
And on whose stirless, prostrate form
Unfelt the sea-spray dashed;
For 'mid the tempest fierce and wild,
He slumbered like a wearied child.
O! who could look upon that face,
And feel the sting of coward fear?
Though hell's fierce demons raged around,
Yet Heaven itself was here;
For who that glorious brow could see
Nor own a present Deity?
And feel the sting of coward fear?
Though hell's fierce demons raged around,
Yet Heaven itself was here;
For who that glorious brow could see
Nor own a present Deity?
With hurried fear they press around
The lowly Saviour's humble bed,
As if his very touch had power
To shield their souls from dread;
While, cradled on the raging deep,
He lay in calm and tranquil sleep.
The lowly Saviour's humble bed,
As if his very touch had power
To shield their souls from dread;
While, cradled on the raging deep,
He lay in calm and tranquil sleep.
Vainly they struggled with their fears,
But wilder still the tempest woke,
Till from their full and o'erfraught hearts
The voice of terror broke:
“Behold! we sink beneath the wave;
We perish, Lord! but thou canst save.”
But wilder still the tempest woke,
Till from their full and o'erfraught hearts
The voice of terror broke:
“Behold! we sink beneath the wave;
We perish, Lord! but thou canst save.”
Slowly he rose; and mild rebuke
Shone in his soft and heaven-lit eye:
“O ye of little faith,” he cried,
“Is not your master nigh?
Is not your hope of succor just?
Why know ye not in whom ye trust?”
Shone in his soft and heaven-lit eye:
“O ye of little faith,” he cried,
“Is not your master nigh?
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Why know ye not in whom ye trust?”
He turned away, and conscious power
Dilated his majestic form,
As o'er the boiling sea he bent,
The ruler of the storm;
Earth to its centre felt the thrill,
As low he murmured: “Peace! Be still!”
Dilated his majestic form,
As o'er the boiling sea he bent,
The ruler of the storm;
Earth to its centre felt the thrill,
As low he murmured: “Peace! Be still!”
Hark to the burst of meeting waves,
The roaring of the angry sea!
A moment more, and all is hushed
In deep tranquillity;
While not a breeze is near to break
The mirrored surface of the lake.
The roaring of the angry sea!
A moment more, and all is hushed
In deep tranquillity;
While not a breeze is near to break
The mirrored surface of the lake.
Then on the stricken hearts of all,
Fell anxious doubt and holy awe,
As timidly they gazed on him
Whose will was nature's law:
“What man is this,” they cry, “whose word
E'en by the raging sea is heard?”
Fell anxious doubt and holy awe,
As timidly they gazed on him
Whose will was nature's law:
“What man is this,” they cry, “whose word
E'en by the raging sea is heard?”
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |