Poems (Shipton)/The Wreck
For works with similar titles, see The Wreck.
THE WRECK.
"There was no more sea."—Rev. xxi. 1.
On the shore of the blue Atlantic is a wailing of wild despair:
O mourners! why weep by the waters for treasures that rest not there?
Each dash of the roaring breakers sounds sad as a funeral knell;
The sob, and the shriek, and the struggle, seem borne on the billowy swell.
O mourners! why weep by the waters for treasures that rest not there?
Each dash of the roaring breakers sounds sad as a funeral knell;
The sob, and the shriek, and the struggle, seem borne on the billowy swell.
Yet dwell not alone on the parting, let memory return to the years
When your tenderness soothed the sad-hearted—your hand dried the sorrowful tears,
When one goal and one hope on your pathway alike their glad promises shed:
Our God is the God of the living—then mourn not the living as dead.
When your tenderness soothed the sad-hearted—your hand dried the sorrowful tears,
When one goal and one hope on your pathway alike their glad promises shed:
Our God is the God of the living—then mourn not the living as dead.
Were your wanderers alone, then, forsaken—unheard on the angry wave?
Unseen by thy Saviour, who raised the dead from the bier and the grave?
Not lost in the ocean's dark caverns the loved of your household sleep,
But above, in a halo of glory, their watch with the angels keep.
Unseen by thy Saviour, who raised the dead from the bier and the grave?
Not lost in the ocean's dark caverns the loved of your household sleep,
But above, in a halo of glory, their watch with the angels keep.
Afar from the strife and the terror, secure in our Father's home,
O'er the waste of the world's wild waters they wait for their loved to come.
No trace of their meek endurance o'ershadows the freed ones' brow;
No dank hair entangled with sea-weed, as ye picture the parted now.
O'er the waste of the world's wild waters they wait for their loved to come.
No trace of their meek endurance o'ershadows the freed ones' brow;
No dank hair entangled with sea-weed, as ye picture the parted now.
But smiles light their calm, sweet faces; love beams from each tender eye;
And fair, as it twined round your fingers, the bright golden tresses float by.
Hush! "Quell thou thy murmurs;" they whisper, "We sin not, we sorrow no more;
We would soothe you, beloved, could you listen, till earths passing anguish were o'er.
And fair, as it twined round your fingers, the bright golden tresses float by.
Hush! "Quell thou thy murmurs;" they whisper, "We sin not, we sorrow no more;
We would soothe you, beloved, could you listen, till earths passing anguish were o'er.
"Thy Saviour hath rest for the weary; He heedeth the soul's faintest prayer;
Ere the desolate utter, 'Lord, hear me!' the God of the mourner is there.
Oh watch! let your light, then, be burning! none know when His coming shall be;
In the kingdom of God in its glory—there—there shall be no more sea."
Ere the desolate utter, 'Lord, hear me!' the God of the mourner is there.
Oh watch! let your light, then, be burning! none know when His coming shall be;
In the kingdom of God in its glory—there—there shall be no more sea."
Then on with a noble courage, unfurrow the grief-knit brow;
Could ye see but the band of the blessed, rejoicing in freedom now,
Ye would join in the song of the Seraph, nor hopelessly weep by the wave,
But trustfully give back the treasures our God in His mercy once gave.
Could ye see but the band of the blessed, rejoicing in freedom now,
Ye would join in the song of the Seraph, nor hopelessly weep by the wave,
But trustfully give back the treasures our God in His mercy once gave.