Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
There’s tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free—
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.
SONG FROM “PIPPA PASSES.”
BY ROBERT BROWNING.
Robert Browning was born at Camberwell in 1812. He was educated at the London University. While his wife lived Browning spent most of his time in Florence—later he divided his time between London and Venice. He died at Venice in 1889. His poems have been collected into several volumes under the titles of “Men and Women,” “Dramatis Personae,” “The Ring and the Book,” “Dramatic Idylls,” and “Sordello.”
The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled.
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in his heaven—
All’s right with the world!
THE WAITING.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
John Greenleaf Whittier was born in Massachusetts in 1807. He was successively the editor of the “American Manufacturer,” the “Haverhill Gazette,” and the “New England Weekly Review.” In 1836 he went to Philadelphia to edit the “Pennsylvania Freeman,” for he was an abolitionist of strong principle. He died in 1892.
I wait and watch; before my eyes
Methinks the night grows thin and gray;
I wait and watch the eastern skies
To see the golden spears uprise
Beneath the oriflamme of day!
Like one whose limbs are bound in trance
I hear the day-sounds swell and grow,
And see across the twilight glance,
Troop after troop, in swift advance,
The shining ones with plumes of snow!
I know the errand of their feet,
I know what mighty work is theirs;
I can but lift up hands unmeet
The thrashing floors of God to beat,
And speed them with unworthy prayers.