LXXXIV.
Aid for one sinking! Thy lone brightness gleam’d
On his wild face, just lifted o’er the wave,
With its worn, fearful, human look, that seem’d
To cry, through surge and blast—“I perish—save!”
Not to the winds—not vainly! Thou wert nigh,
Thy hand was stretch’d to fainting agony,
Even in the portals of th’ unquiet grave!
O Thou that art the life! and yet didst bear
Too much of mortal woe to turn from mortal prayer!