Page:Poems Curwen.djvu/69

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And when at last comes morning's light,
Hope dies before the awful sight
Of the wild waste of angry sea;
And in a perfect agony—
Half frenzied with suspense and fear—
I raise the supplicating prayer:

"O Thou, who dost the winds command,
And 'holds the waters in Thine hand,'
Upon Thy promise I rely,
That Thou wilt hear us when we cry;
And now, O Lord, I plead to Thee
"For those in peril on the sea."

As if in answer to my prayer
The boat appears—'Tis her! 'tis her!—
Flying through the seething foam,
Back to shelter, back to home;
Tempest-tossed, her sails in rents,
Battling with the elements.

Triumphant o'er the mighty deep,
Whose furious waters round her sweep,
She struggles on her homeward way;
And I, with lips still trembling, say—
"Safe from the perils of the sea,
God has brought back my own to me."