Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/On the stormy petrel
ON THE STORMY PETREL,CALLED BY SAILORS MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS,
Bird of untiring wing, Whence dost thou come?Bird of deep mystery, Where is thy home?
On the broad ocean wave How canst thou rest?Where dost thou roost at night? Where build thy nest?
Land is too far from thee On every side,Thousands of miles away, Over the tide.
Yet dost thou carelessly Sport o'er the wave,Fearless of finding A watery grave!
When the storm rages, And tempests beat high,Still on the crests Of the billows you fly;
Sportively, joyously, Dart through the foam,Still seem delighted O'er ocean to roam.
Bird of three elements, Air, water, earth,Where dost thou rear thy young? Where hail their birth?
Is it on some lonely Rock in the sea, Where human hand or foot Never may be?
Dost thou from such lone spot Launch o'er the flood,Bringing along with thee Thy youthful brood?—
Over the deep, deep sea Like thee to fly,Like thee to bring their young, Flutter,—and die?
Bird of existence brief) Man is like thee,Launching he knows not where, O'er a wide sea;
Tossed on the billows Of life's stormy wave,Restless as thou Till he sinks in the grave;
But not like thee, poor bird, Never to rise!Soon on the wings Of the spirit he flies,—
Soars through eternal space, Ransomed and blest,—Mounts to heaven's utmost height! There is his rest.