After the Storm.
(Penciled in the bay-window above the Golden Gate, North Beach, San
Francisco, February 20, 1873.)
All day the winds the sea had lashed, The fretted waves in anger dashed
Against the rocks in tumult wild Above the surges roughly piled--No blue
above, no peace below, The waves still rage, the winds still blow.
Dull and muffled the sunset gun Tells that the dreary day is done; The
sea-birds fly with drooping wing--Chill and shadow on every thing--No
blue above, no peace below, The waves still rage, the winds still blow.
The clouds dispart; the sapphire dye In beauty spreads o'er the western
sky, Cloud-fires blaze o'er the Gate of Gold, Gleaming and glowing, fold
on fold--All blue above, all peace below, Nor waves now rage, nor winds
now blow.
Souls that are lashed by storms of pain, Eyes that drip with sorrow's
rain; Hearts that burn with passion strong, Bruised and torn, and weary
of wrong--No light above, no peace within, Battling with self, and torn
by sin--
Hope on, hold on, the clouds will lift; God's peace will come as his own
sweet gift, The light will shine at evening-time, The reflected beams of
the sunlit clime, The blessed goal of the soul's long quest, Where
storms ne'er beat, and all are blest.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204