Irish Jesuit Province

By the SeaAuthor(s): Deborah WebbSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 16, No. 175 (Jan., 1888), pp. 23-24Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497667 .

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By the Sea. 23

BY THE SEA.

The golden sun sinks low, Gilding the gorgeous west,

Bevond a sea of gold and sapphire blue; The northern mountains glow,

In purple splendor drest; The sparkling sands reflect a crimson hue.

And can it be more fair

Where you, dear spirits, dwell? Do sunset glories o'er that reoion wave ?

Brief seems the passage there, Yet may no mortal tell'

What shining shores its crystal waters lave.

But be it near or far,

That bright and living home Whose features bv us all will soon be seen,

I only know you are, And that you sometimes come,

And partly pierce the mists that intqrvene.

The sunset hour is past, Night shadows round me creep;

In sombre massiveness the mountains frown. The sky is half o'ercast;

But on the solemn deep

Stars, faint but numberless, are looking down.

As here alone I stand, Heaven's peopled space before,

In insignificance I seem to be A single grain of sand

On an unbounded shore; One drop in an unfathomable sea.

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24 The Irtish Monthly.

Immeasurably small,

Immeasurably weak,

Yet haunted by such infinite unrest; Ah ! if this life were all,

The weary well might seek

Repose in yonder ocean's heaving breast.

But no, there is a li,ght To cheer the darkest way,

Hope's fixAd star on the veiled future's brow;

Surer than day and nicght An ever present ray,

For what we know must be is with us now.

And sorrow, care, and pain, And weariness and strife,

Have they not been our friends and teachers here ?

Shall we not meet again,

And in the higher life

Will they not help us on from sphere to sphere ?

Who would not be more strong, More loving, and more pure,

More one with the divine harmonious whole ?

Who would not suffer long And patiently endure

For greater health and peace unto the soul ?

But as we gather strength, Such may not be our need,

And we can bear a bliss with less alloy,

Until perhaps at length From pain we may be freed,

And life, progressive still, become all joy.

DEBORAH WEBB.

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