 | "Until the Day Break," |  |
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THE WORLD'S STORM.
“The sea and the waves roaring.”
—Luke xxi. 25.
—Luke xxi. 25.
The tempest has been long, and through the sky
Wander the clouds, uncertain of their way;
The air is thick, and the old sun on high
Is hiding still his beauty from the day,
Under some sad eclipse or silent, sore decay.
Wander the clouds, uncertain of their way;
The air is thick, and the old sun on high
Is hiding still his beauty from the day,
Under some sad eclipse or silent, sore decay.
Round the wide earth the storm its war doth wage;
O'er the far sea it spreads its saddening gloom,
Nor noon nor night its anger can assuage;
As if above us hung some hopeless doom,
Preparing for our race an everlasting tomb.
O'er the far sea it spreads its saddening gloom,
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As if above us hung some hopeless doom,
Preparing for our race an everlasting tomb.
And sin hath done it all! The heavy years,
Burdening the ages, owe their heaviness
To this alone—the thousand griefs and fears
Which speak humanity's unhealed distress,
And all its told or untold broken-heartedness.
Burdening the ages, owe their heaviness
To this alone—the thousand griefs and fears
Which speak humanity's unhealed distress,
And all its told or untold broken-heartedness.
Where'er we go, 'tis shipwreck, shipwreck still;
The shore is strewed with relics of the gale;
Look where we may, from tower, or cliff, or hill,
We see the broken barque, the shivered sail,
Or hear from dying lips the long, wild, woeful wail.
The shore is strewed with relics of the gale;
Look where we may, from tower, or cliff, or hill,
We see the broken barque, the shivered sail,
Or hear from dying lips the long, wild, woeful wail.
Far off or near, the unabated power
Of evil reigns, confessed or unconfessed.
The prince of evil knows his day and power;
O'er the dark earth he reigns, from east to west,
The spirit of misrule, the angel of unrest.
Of evil reigns, confessed or unconfessed.
The prince of evil knows his day and power;
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The spirit of misrule, the angel of unrest.
The world is not what it was meant to be,
Nor is it what it shall one day become;
It writhes beneath its wasting misery,
Crying for help, even when it seems most dumb,
And of its stormy ages counts the weary sum.
Nor is it what it shall one day become;
It writhes beneath its wasting misery,
Crying for help, even when it seems most dumb,
And of its stormy ages counts the weary sum.
Yet need it not despair, for help is near,
And “Peace be still” shall bring the mighty calm,
Shall bid the storm depart, the sin, the fear,
The rose come up, the myrtle and the palm,
And all its vales send up the universal psalm.
And “Peace be still” shall bring the mighty calm,
Shall bid the storm depart, the sin, the fear,
The rose come up, the myrtle and the palm,
And all its vales send up the universal psalm.
November 23rd, 1878.
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