Poems (Thaxter)/At the Breaker's Edge

by Celia Thaxter

AT THE BREAKERS' EDGE.

Through the wide sky Thy north-wind's thunder roars Resistless, till no cloud is left to flee,And down the clear, cold heaven unhindered pours Thine awful moonlight on the winter sea.

The vast, black, raging spaces, torn and wild, With an insensate fury answer backTo the gale's challenge, hurrying breakers, piled Each over each, roll through the glittering track.

I shudder in the terror of Thy cold, As buffeted by the fierce blast I stand,Watching that shining path of bronzéd gold, With solemn, shadowy rocks on either hand;

While at their feet, ghastly and white as death, The cruel, foaming billows plunge and rave.O Father! where art Thou? My feeble breath Cries to Thee through the storm of wind and wave.

The cry of all Thy children since the first That walked Thy planets' myriad paths among;The cry of all mankind whom doubt has cursed, In every clime, in every age and tongue.

Thou art the cold, the swift fire that consumes; Thy vast, unerring forces never fail;And Thou art in the frailest flower that blooms, As in the breath of this tremendous gale.

Yet, though Thy laws are clear as light, and prove Thee changeless, ever human weakness cravesSome deeper knowledge for our human love That looks 'with sad eyes o'er its wastes of graves,

And hungers for the dear hands softly drawn, One after one, from out our longing grasp.Dost Thou reach out for them? In the sweet dawn Of some new world thrill they within Thy clasp?

Ah! what am I, Thine atom, standing here In presence of Thy pitiless elements,Daring to question Thy great silence drear, No voice may break to lighten our suspense!

Thou only, infinite Patience, that endures Forever! Blind and dumb I cling to Thee.Slow glides the bitter night, and silent pours Thine awful moonlight on the winter sea.