Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/27

And the faint land-bird, as it quivering hung
Mid our wet shrouds, to die.
                                     And when I've bowed
My soul to thee, thou hast not failed to breathe
A glorious thought therein, pointing to Him,
Who counts thy thunder as an infant's sigh.
And when thy mountain-waves, with solemn night
Upon their crests, went rushing on, to do
The secret bidding of the Invisible, Oft hat
h their terrible beauty waked a thrill
Of rapturous awe, as if a spirit spake
From their dark depths of God.
                                       And thou didst spare
Our trembling vessel mid the breakers hoarse,
What time, by urgent winds propelled, she went Down to
ward unpitying Bardsey's frightful reef.

What did I say? Thou spar'dst us!
                                  No. His hand
Who heareth prayer sustained us, as we ran
O'er wreck- paved Cardigan such fearful course,
As turned the proudest pale.
                                      And so, farewell!
I give thee thanks, but most of all rejoice
At our leave-taking.
                                 Lo! the pilot boat
Speeds like a dancing feather o'er the surge,
And the dim outline of the shore grows green,
Lifting its spires and turrets to the cloud.