 | Poems |  |
77
JESUS CALMS THE TEMPEST.
The roaring tumult of the billowed seaAwakes him not: high on the crested surge,
Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the blast;
And, now descending, 'tween the sheltering waves,
The falling tresses veil the face divine:
Meek though that veil a momentary gleam,
Benignant, shines; he dreams that he beholds
The opening eyes,—that long hopeless had rolled
In darkness,—look around bedimmed with tears
Of joy; but, suddenly, the voice of fear
Dispelled the happy vision: Awful he rose,
Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,
Peace, be thou still! and straight there was a calm,
With terror-mingled gladness in their looks,
The mariners exclaim,—What man is this,
That even the wind and sea obey his voice!
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