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165
THE ROCK OF AGES.
Stormy and wild the night; never the gleam of a star;
Drowned dead faces drifting on through the awful dark.
Hark! the thunderous voices; deep calleth to deep afar.
Now, my Lover, my Christ, Thy saving Cross be mine ark!
Drowned dead faces drifting on through the awful dark.
Hark! the thunderous voices; deep calleth to deep afar.
Now, my Lover, my Christ, Thy saving Cross be mine ark!
Strengthen, Strong One, mine arms! Lo! they bleed even now;
For the wind like a scorpion's lash, and the driftwood scourged of the sea,
And the waves encurled like snakes, with the foamy crest on the brow,
Have worked the whole night long their terrible will on me.
For the wind like a scorpion's lash, and the driftwood scourged of the sea,
And the waves encurled like snakes, with the foamy crest on the brow,
Have worked the whole night long their terrible will on me.
166
The driven clouds shape fantastic till they flee, a goblin rout,
And here one streameth wildly like a lean witch's hair,
And there one mows and chatters; and an awful moon looks out,
Her stony face as the face of some drowned mariner.
And here one streameth wildly like a lean witch's hair,
And there one mows and chatters; and an awful moon looks out,
Her stony face as the face of some drowned mariner.
Mine eyes are dim with the waves, salt spray clings to my cheek,
Seaweed and driven sand tangle my trailing hair;
But the rock is soft as down to my tender body and weak—
Mine ark, from the evil things of the sea, and the earth, and the air.
Seaweed and driven sand tangle my trailing hair;
But the rock is soft as down to my tender body and weak—
Mine ark, from the evil things of the sea, and the earth, and the air.
Now, if I look below, what glimmers blue to the sight?
The cruel fin of a shark; he is patient waiting for me.
Above, and a vulture screameth hoarsely across the night.
The twain, with glittering eyes, are watching their hour to be.
The cruel fin of a shark; he is patient waiting for me.
Above, and a vulture screameth hoarsely across the night.
The twain, with glittering eyes, are watching their hour to be.
167
My face is against the Cross; empty is it and grey,
The lonely awful arms spreading against the sky.
On the crown a silver dove broodeth ever and aye,
Unheeding the tumult of waters and the mad winds rushing by.
The lonely awful arms spreading against the sky.
On the crown a silver dove broodeth ever and aye,
Unheeding the tumult of waters and the mad winds rushing by.
Once at the mirk midnight came a roar and a rattle of thunder;
The sea and the stormy sky were black as a raven's wing.
As the fiery spear of the lightning clave the blackness asunder,
Lo! mine eyes looked up, and saw a marvellous thing.
The sea and the stormy sky were black as a raven's wing.
As the fiery spear of the lightning clave the blackness asunder,
Lo! mine eyes looked up, and saw a marvellous thing.
The Cross no longer was bare: One, fair and kingly and pale,
Was set thereon, and His side was stained with a terrible stain,
And the rents in the hands and feet yawned wide for the cruel nail,
And the weary head was bent, the dead lips ashen with pain.
Was set thereon, and His side was stained with a terrible stain,
And the rents in the hands and feet yawned wide for the cruel nail,
And the weary head was bent, the dead lips ashen with pain.
168
And lo! on either hand, two crosses loomed through the mist.
Two dead men hung on these: one face was turned away,
And the other looked with a passion of love and desire to the Christ,
And a strange light gleamed on his brows, and a smile on his mouth did play.
Two dead men hung on these: one face was turned away,
And the other looked with a passion of love and desire to the Christ,
And a strange light gleamed on his brows, and a smile on his mouth did play.
And I know where lieth yon low gold line to the east
Are the shore and the happy city. The wind wafts here on its wing
Voices of viols and lutes. One holdeth a marriagefeast;
And the blare of the trumpets is clear, and the sound of the harp-playing.
Are the shore and the happy city. The wind wafts here on its wing
Voices of viols and lutes. One holdeth a marriagefeast;
And the blare of the trumpets is clear, and the sound of the harp-playing.
Thence in the heart of the storm, One putteth forth in a boat,
Out on the shrieking sea, from the gold shore, holy and sweet,
And the winds come up to devour Him, the tiger waves spring at His throat;
Lo! at the sound of His voice they are fawning about His feet.
Out on the shrieking sea, from the gold shore, holy and sweet,
And the winds come up to devour Him, the tiger waves spring at His throat;
Lo! at the sound of His voice they are fawning about His feet.
169
Hither and thither He goeth: now He leaveth His bark,
Walketh upon the waters—they are singing like brooks in May—
And He gathereth into His arms the floating bodies and stark,
And the life comes back at His touch to the faces sodden and grey.
Walketh upon the waters—they are singing like brooks in May—
And He gathereth into His arms the floating bodies and stark,
And the life comes back at His touch to the faces sodden and grey.
And He roweth these to the land; hasteneth back through the night—
Wherever His feet have passed is a mystic radiance like noon—
And He pauseth and peereth oft, lest one may escape His sight;
So He reapeth His harvest under a waning moon.
Wherever His feet have passed is a mystic radiance like noon—
And He pauseth and peereth oft, lest one may escape His sight;
So He reapeth His harvest under a waning moon.
He looketh not yet to me, but I bide His time on the rock.
One night He will row my way, with His deep eyes raised to my face.
Shall I fear? Can the tempest avail, or the winds or the earthquake shock,
Against this eternal strength steady from brow to base?
One night He will row my way, with His deep eyes raised to my face.
Shall I fear? Can the tempest avail, or the winds or the earthquake shock,
Against this eternal strength steady from brow to base?
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