 | Sacra Poesis |  |
THE HEART OF MAN.
Madly roars the foaming ocean,
High the billows boil within;
Passions there in fierce commotion
Tear the heart of man with sin;
Darkly, deeply, still they roar,
Without a bed, without a shore.
High the billows boil within;
Passions there in fierce commotion
Tear the heart of man with sin;
Darkly, deeply, still they roar,
Without a bed, without a shore.
Beetling high above the waves
Stands a solitary rock,
Firm, the rushing storm it braves,
Firm, it waits the billow's shock:
Faith alone, 'mid passion's pow'r,
Braves unmov'd sin's darkest hour.
Stands a solitary rock,
Firm, the rushing storm it braves,
Firm, it waits the billow's shock:
Faith alone, 'mid passion's pow'r,
Braves unmov'd sin's darkest hour.
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On that rock a dove has nestled,
Sitting on her infant brood;
With the wild waves has she wrestled,
And has conquer'd ill with good:
Calm she sits upon her nest,
And whispers to the bosom, rest.
Sitting on her infant brood;
With the wild waves has she wrestled,
And has conquer'd ill with good:
Calm she sits upon her nest,
And whispers to the bosom, rest.
Though the billows o'er her foam,
Yet they cannot drown her love;
That firm rock is still her home,
Though the tempests grieve the dove:
Still the Spirit glows within,
Till he triumphs over sin.
Yet they cannot drown her love;
That firm rock is still her home,
Though the tempests grieve the dove:
Still the Spirit glows within,
Till he triumphs over sin.
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