Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,
To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,

Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,
Lean over the side and see
The leaden eye of the sidelong shark
Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee:
Look down and see those shapeless forms,
Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,
Rising like islands from beneath,

And snorting through the angry spray,
As the frail vessel perisheth
In the whirls of their unwieldy play ;
Look down! Look down!
Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,
That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark
Into the cold depth of the sea!
Look down! Look down!

Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere
Voices sad, from far and near,
Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing drearfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream ;
The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,
The green grass floweth like a stream
Into the ocean's blue;

Listen! O, listen!

Here is a gush of many streams,
A song of many birds,
And every wish and longing seems
Lulled to a numbered flow of words,
Listen! O, listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers
crowned;

So smooth the sand, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land;

All around with a slumberous sound, The singing waves slide up the strand, And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,

The waters gurgle longingly,

As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest forevermore, -

Far down into her large and patient eyes
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,
As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,
I look into the fathomless blue skies.

So circled lives she with Love's holy light,

That from the shade of self she walketh free;

The garden of her soul still keepeth she
An Eden where the snake did never enter;
She hath a natural, wise sincerity,
A simple truthfulness, and these have lent
her

A dignity as moveless as the centre ;
So that no influence of our earth can stir
Her steadfast courage, nor can take away
The holy peacefulness, which night and
day,

Unto her queenly soul doth minister.

Most gentle is she; her large charity (An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) Not freer is to give than meek to bear; And, though herself not unacquaint with

care,

Hath in her heart wide room for all that be, Her heart that hath no secrets of its own, But open is as eglantine full blown. Cloudless forever is her brow serene, Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence

Welleth a noiseless spring of patience, That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green And full of holiness, that every look, The greatness of her woman's soul revealing,

Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling As when I read in God's own holy book.

A graciousness in giving that doth make The sull'st gift greatest, and a sense most meek

Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take From others, but which always fears to speak

Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake;

The deep religion of a thankful heart, Which rests instinctively in Heaven's

clear law

With a full peace, that never can depart From its own steadfastness; - - a holy awe For holy things, - not those which men call holy,

But such as are revealed to the eyes