THE TIDE IS EBBING FAST, MY CHILD.
I
“The tide is ebbing fast, my child,
Come hither to the shore,
And where the waves recede, we'll keep
Our weary watch once more.
They say thy father's boat was wreck'd—
Nay, child, look not so pale,
As yet no fragments on the sand
Confirm the dreadful tale.
II
“I dare not move those dark sea weeds,
To see what lies beneath;
At ev'ry step I dread to meet
Some harbinger of death.
But cheer thee, child—the storm abates!
We have no cause to mourn,
For with the morning's flowing tide,
Thy father will return.”
III
The night is gone,—and calmly comes
The ripple of the tide.
The fisher's wife is there—her child
Stands weeping at her side.
“Behold!” the mother cries, “a form
Is floating on the wave!
'Tis he! droop not, for 'tis our task
To bear him to his grave.”
