Poems (Curwen)/Out in the Storm

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Out in the Storm.

Kneel and pray, my little daughter,
Father is out on the stormy water;
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,"
Hearken to my little child,
Listen to her infant plea—
"Keep Dadda safe upon the sea."

Darling, how the wild winds roar,
The angry waves dash on the shore;
In ceaseless torrents falls the rain,
And wildly beats upon the pane.
Child, my heart grows cold with fear,
Oh, if your father were but here.

Fierce, yet fiercer blows the gale,
Till I feel my cheeks turn pale,
And with something like amaze
O'er the raging seas I gaze.
Oh, God! if I could only see
The boat come in in safety.

Through the lonesome hours of night,
In the dim, uncertain light,
While the little children sleep,
I to my casement trembling creep
And strain mine eyes in vain to see
The boat's light flash across the sea.

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."