 | Poems of home and country |  |
323
THE CANARY AT SEA.
[_]
On the Cunard Steamer Abyssinia, far from land, a canary bird made its home as contentedly as if in its native forest. The poet has given to the incident that spiritual lesson which has marked his lifework as a lover of Nature, in close companionship with Nature's Master, the Creator of all.
Sweet wanderer o'er the sea,
Where wild winds moan,
And billowy waves, like pulses, beat
Their monotone,—
How tread thy little feet, so gay,
Devoid of fear?
How is thy heart so brave and bold,—
A stranger here?
Where wild winds moan,
And billowy waves, like pulses, beat
Their monotone,—
How tread thy little feet, so gay,
Devoid of fear?
How is thy heart so brave and bold,—
A stranger here?
The summer bloom, the verdant fields,
Are far away;
No leafy bower, no warbled tone,
Invites thy stay.
Sea here, sea there, sea everywhere,
Wave chasing wave,—
In peril's hour, O, who has power
To shield or save?
Are far away;
No leafy bower, no warbled tone,
Invites thy stay.
Sea here, sea there, sea everywhere,
Wave chasing wave,—
In peril's hour, O, who has power
To shield or save?
Enough for thee, the strong-rigged bark,
In calm and storm,
Will shelter and protect from harm
Thy tiny form;
Cling to the refuge, and be safe
From wave and gale,
And o'er the ocean's boundless waste
Securely sail.
In calm and storm,
Will shelter and protect from harm
Thy tiny form;
Cling to the refuge, and be safe
From wave and gale,
And o'er the ocean's boundless waste
Securely sail.
324
Wanderers o'er life's uncertain course,—
A dangerous sea,—
Our only refuge, Son of God,
We find in Thee;
Led captive by no lower aim,
To Thee we cling,
And rest in perfect faith and hope
Beneath Thy wing.
A dangerous sea,—
Our only refuge, Son of God,
We find in Thee;
Led captive by no lower aim,
To Thee we cling,
And rest in perfect faith and hope
Beneath Thy wing.
Sweet, simple bird, of watchful eye
And lithest limb,
Thy trust is in this gallant ship;
But ours, in Him.
Thy hope may founder through some leak,
Or stormy gale;
Ours, anchored to the throne of God,
Can never fail.
And lithest limb,
Thy trust is in this gallant ship;
But ours, in Him.
Thy hope may founder through some leak,
Or stormy gale;
Ours, anchored to the throne of God,
Can never fail.
October 24, 1880.
| Poems of home and country | |