LOST AT SEA.

Good-night, beloved; the light is slowly dying

From wood and field; and far away the sea

Moans deep within its bosom. Is it sighing

For those whose rest can never broken be;

For those who found their way to God; yet never

Beneath green sod may rest, the sea holds them for ever?

Yes, deep and still your grave; the ocean keeping

Whate’er it gains for ever in its hold.

I know that in its depths you now are sleeping,

Quiet and dreamless as in churchyard mould;

But I have no still mound, as others, only

The memory of times past, ’mid days that now are lonely.

Buried deep with you in the sea for ever

Is all the brightness earth had once for me.

The spring returns; flowers bloom again; but never

I feel the joy in bird, and flower, and tree;

I see, but feel not as in days of yore,

Those days that can come back to me, ah, nevermore!

But yet I know that I am not forsaken.

‘Lead Thou me on,’ I now can calmly say.

None know the bitterness of sorrow taken

From out my heart; when I that prayer could pray,

In His own time God took you in His keeping,

All earthly sorrows past; where there is no more weeping.

Florence Peacock.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.