The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY. |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
198
PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY.
“The land shall never rue,
So England to herself do prove but true.”
Shakspeare.
So England to herself do prove but true.”
Shakspeare.
Through evening's bright repose
A voice of prayer arose,
When the sea-fight was done:
The sons of England knelt,
With hearts that now could melt,
For on the wave her battle had been won.
A voice of prayer arose,
When the sea-fight was done:
The sons of England knelt,
With hearts that now could melt,
For on the wave her battle had been won.
Round their tall ship, the main
Heaved with a dark red stain,
Caught not from sunset's cloud;
While with the tide swept past
Pennon and shiver'd mast,
Which to the Ocean Queen that day had bow'd.
Heaved with a dark red stain,
Caught not from sunset's cloud;
While with the tide swept past
Pennon and shiver'd mast,
Which to the Ocean Queen that day had bow'd.
But free and fair on high,
A native of the sky,
Her streamer met the breeze;
It flow'd o'er fearless men,
Though hush'd and child-like then,
Before their God they gather'd on the seas.
A native of the sky,
Her streamer met the breeze;
It flow'd o'er fearless men,
Though hush'd and child-like then,
Before their God they gather'd on the seas.
Oh! did not thoughts of home
O'er each bold spirit come
As, from the land, sweet gales?
In every word of prayer
Had not some hearth a share,
Some bower, inviolate 'midst England's vales?
O'er each bold spirit come
As, from the land, sweet gales?
In every word of prayer
Had not some hearth a share,
Some bower, inviolate 'midst England's vales?
199
Yes! bright green spots that lay
In beauty far away,
Hearing no billows roar;
Safer from touch of spoil,
For that day's fiery toil,
Rose on high hearts, that now with love gush'd o'er.
In beauty far away,
Hearing no billows roar;
Safer from touch of spoil,
For that day's fiery toil,
Rose on high hearts, that now with love gush'd o'er.
A solemn scene and dread!
The victors and the dead,
The breathless burning sky!
And, passing with the race
Of waves that keep no trace,
The wild, brief signs of human victory!
The victors and the dead,
The breathless burning sky!
And, passing with the race
Of waves that keep no trace,
The wild, brief signs of human victory!
A stern, yet holy scene!
Billows, where strife hath been,
Sinking to awful sleep;
And words, that breathe the sense
Of God's omnipotence,
Making a minster of that silent deep.
Billows, where strife hath been,
Sinking to awful sleep;
And words, that breathe the sense
Of God's omnipotence,
Making a minster of that silent deep.
Borne through such hours afar,
Thy flag hath been a star,
Where eagle's wing ne'er flew:—
England! the unprofaned,
Thou of the hearths unstain'd,
Oh! to the banner and the shrine be true!
Thy flag hath been a star,
Where eagle's wing ne'er flew:—
England! the unprofaned,
Thou of the hearths unstain'd,
Oh! to the banner and the shrine be true!
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |