I join my feeble voice with theirs,
Triumphant in its yell,
For evil powers of earth I scorn,
And all the pow'rs of hell.
Tho' men and devils both unite,
And all their force combine,
I feel, ye waves and howling winds,
That all your strength is mine.
For He who holds you in His hand,
And moulds you to His will,
Can whisper to all hostile pow'rs,
As to you, "Peace, be still!"
He bends your necks like osiers green,
Also the necks of men;
Therefore with you I raise my voice,
And shout aloud, again.
For you are on my side, ye waves,
And you, ye winds, are mine.
If I but cast off worldly cares,
If I my will resign.
Then let me feel what I have felt
Full oft, in days of yore—
A fearful, joyous pulse of life
Thrill through me at your roar.
Let me fling on your crests, ye waves,
My loads of heavy woe,
And on your wings, ye howling winds,
My cares and sorrows throw.
* * * * *
THE READING MAN.
With patient toil, from day to day,
The printed page he scann'd,
The page of learned book, or sheet
With news from foreign land.
And people thought him wond'rous wise,
And he himself was vain
Of all the knowledge he had stor'd
Within his jaded brain.
What other men were working at,
He knew from day to day,
But never dream'd his barren task
Was only idle play.
Fill'd with the thoughts of other minds,
His words were barren, dry;
He seldom coin'd a thought himself,
He had so many by.