Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| IV. |
THE SKY PILOT. |
| V. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
195
THE SKY PILOT.
“Sic itur ad astra.”
Fair weather pilot none is he,
But (far as mortals go),
He boldly launches out to sea,
Whatever winds may blow;
However billows leap and fret,
They only bid him pray,
They cannot shake his course, and yet
He works his onward way;
Round iron reefs and stormy capes,
By fierce and foaming bars,
Steadfast he steers his craft, and shapes
His voyage for the stars.
But (far as mortals go),
He boldly launches out to sea,
Whatever winds may blow;
However billows leap and fret,
They only bid him pray,
They cannot shake his course, and yet
He works his onward way;
Round iron reefs and stormy capes,
By fierce and foaming bars,
Steadfast he steers his craft, and shapes
His voyage for the stars.
But frolic boats on idle whims
Are flitting up and down,
And heed not as it upward swims
The corpse's threatening frown;
Deep in the gulf of ocean caves
They flicker to and fro,
Or hang on crests of curling waves
(Like butterflies), and go;
They seem so gallant, while they graze
The flowery shoals in flight,
And dancing drop through purple haze
To pleasure and the night.
Are flitting up and down,
And heed not as it upward swims
The corpse's threatening frown;
Deep in the gulf of ocean caves
They flicker to and fro,
Or hang on crests of curling waves
(Like butterflies), and go;
They seem so gallant, while they graze
The flowery shoals in flight,
And dancing drop through purple haze
To pleasure and the night.
Though perils come he knows not when,
And terrors o'er him rise,
He carries home the souls of men,
A costly merchandise;
The souls of men are passing sweet,
And thus he cannot stay,
Who lays them at the Master's feet,
For all his holiday;
O earth is a poor fleeting jest,
And wordly joy but jars
On him who toils for other's rest,
And steereth for the stars.
And terrors o'er him rise,
He carries home the souls of men,
A costly merchandise;
The souls of men are passing sweet,
And thus he cannot stay,
Who lays them at the Master's feet,
For all his holiday;
O earth is a poor fleeting jest,
And wordly joy but jars
On him who toils for other's rest,
And steereth for the stars.
196
By Scylla and Charybdis bent,
He pushes on his track,
As braver ships before him went
That never did come back;
He coasts the Siren's pleasant lands,
With all their tempting store,
Nor heeds the white and waving hands
Upon the shining shore;
And if a soul too idly sleeps,
The waters cannot whelm
The pilot at his post, who keeps
His hold upon the helm.
He pushes on his track,
As braver ships before him went
That never did come back;
He coasts the Siren's pleasant lands,
With all their tempting store,
Nor heeds the white and waving hands
Upon the shining shore;
And if a soul too idly sleeps,
The waters cannot whelm
The pilot at his post, who keeps
His hold upon the helm.
His compass is the faith, that burns
Clear in the deepest night,
And from each dazzling meteor turns
Up to the heavenly light;
His chart is not in human books,
Nor marked by earthly times,
But (writ with God's own finger) looks
To fairer farther climes;
No dying beacon guides the road,
It only mocks and mars
By tricking out his bitter load,
He steereth by the stars.
Clear in the deepest night,
And from each dazzling meteor turns
Up to the heavenly light;
His chart is not in human books,
Nor marked by earthly times,
But (writ with God's own finger) looks
To fairer farther climes;
No dying beacon guides the road,
It only mocks and mars
By tricking out his bitter load,
He steereth by the stars.
About him drift the ghastly forms
Of vessels wrecked and reft,
Dismasted by the deadly storms
And lone and helpless left;
They wallow in the tumbling waves,
Which once they gaily trod,
And lift as out of blasted graves
Their broken arms to God;
Tost up and down with every tide,
While evils hourly grow,
They reel and shudder, and abide
The last black plunge below.
Of vessels wrecked and reft,
Dismasted by the deadly storms
And lone and helpless left;
They wallow in the tumbling waves,
Which once they gaily trod,
And lift as out of blasted graves
Their broken arms to God;
Tost up and down with every tide,
While evils hourly grow,
They reel and shudder, and abide
The last black plunge below.
Strange currents in this ocean run,
And unmapped foemen fall,
And in a midnight sky the sun
Hears drowning sinners call;
The darkness with the daylight strives,
And gates of wondrous goals
Look dimly down on precious lives
Of beautiful sweet souls:
But still the pilot homeward leads
His freight, through noble scars,
With upward gaze as one who reads
God's story in the stars.
And unmapped foemen fall,
197
Hears drowning sinners call;
The darkness with the daylight strives,
And gates of wondrous goals
Look dimly down on precious lives
Of beautiful sweet souls:
But still the pilot homeward leads
His freight, through noble scars,
With upward gaze as one who reads
God's story in the stars.
The lightning flashes, rocks their fangs
Unfold to pierce his bark,
Above his head the tempest hangs,
A horror dense and dark;
The thunder rolls, and dreadful sounds
The surge beneath him sends,
And breakers grim as hungry hounds
Pursue him to the end;
He wavers not, his heart is true,
And points from passion short
To the far opening rift of blue,
And presses on to port.
Unfold to pierce his bark,
Above his head the tempest hangs,
A horror dense and dark;
The thunder rolls, and dreadful sounds
The surge beneath him sends,
And breakers grim as hungry hounds
Pursue him to the end;
He wavers not, his heart is true,
And points from passion short
To the far opening rift of blue,
And presses on to port.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |