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HOME AT LAST.
HILD, do not fear;
We shall reach our home to-night,
And the waters bright;
And the breezes have scarcely strength
To unfold that little cloud,
That like a shroud
Spreads out its fleecy length;
Then have no fear,
As we cleave our silver way
Fear not, my child!
Though the waves are white and high,
And the storm blows wild
Through the gloomy sky;
On the edge of the western sea,
Is the haven bright
Where home is awaiting thee.
We shall rest from our stormy voyage
Be not afraid;
But give me thy hand, and see
How the waves have made
A cradle for thee.
Night is come, dear, and we shall rest; So turn from the angry skies,
And close thine eyes,
And lay thy head on my breast:
Child, do not weep;
In the calm, cold, purple depths
WELLS within the soul of
More than all his effort can express;
And he knows the best remains unut
Sighing at what we call his success.
Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us
And the more devoutly that he listens,
Still the more his soul must struggle vainly,
Bowed beneath a noble discontent.
No great Thinker ever lived, and taught you All the wonder that his soul received;
No true Painter ever set on canvas
All the glorious vision he conceived.
No Musician ever held your spirit
Charmed and bound in his melodious chains, But be sure he heard, and strove to render, Feeble echoes of celestial strains.
No real Poet ever wove in numbers
So with Love: for Love and Art united
Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour
Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers
Ever in its deepest depths untold.
Things of Time have voices: speak and perish. Art and Love speak—but their words must be Like sighings of illimitable forests,
And waves of an unfathomable sea.
T is not because your heart is mine-mine only
It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely,
For your own;
Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies
Spread above you
Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes-