THE STORMY PETREL.

Far in the wilderness of waves,

Where vision dieth‘ mid endless motion,

Where only the madden'd storm-wind raves,

And sinketh its chains in the soundless ocean;

Far from the ken and the power of men,

And lone as though Earth were in chaos again,

The Stormy Petrel cleaveth the air,

And maketh the surging billow its lair.

The black cloud scuddeth along on high,

Silent and swift as the angel Death,

Led by Euroclydon through the sky

Unto its victim with bated breath,

Whilst only God and the Petrel seeth

The path by which the Avenger fleeth,

And with shrill accent of wail and mourning

Riseth the Petrel's wild cry of warning.

Anon the bones of the wreck come past

Bitterly mock'd of the roaring tide,

From wave to wave in derision cast

With scorn and jeers at poor human pride;

And still the Petrel with lightning sweep

Circles their way through the raging deep,

Settling in awe on some shatter'd spar,

And tracking its course as it drifts afar.

Into this realm of the winds and waves

Man cometh not with his living soul,

But like the mounds over clammy graves,

Over his body the surges roll;

No mortal weeper hath seen his tomb,

Buried he lies in eternal gloom,

Save that the Petrel with wailing cry

Hover'd around as he floated by.

What doth the Petrel so far away

From the home of love and the field of strife?

In this lone spot doth the Petrel stay

To show the beauty and power of LIFE.

For the broad Earth and the boundless sea,

Time and the endless eternity,

All, all acknowledge the spirit's controul,

And like the frail body, were made for the soul.