Thoughts on the Sea-Shore

The frowning sea is raging there,
But mildly beams the moon on high,
Below is danger, darkness, fear,
But peace and beauty deck the sky.

Yet ocean's rough, tumultuous breast,
Will soon the moon's bright influence own,
There will she spread her beaming vest,
And there will fix her radiant throne.

And see! the beauteous queen of night,
Now gilds the wave that curls to shore,
While round her flows a flood of light,
Where all was solemn gloom before.

Pilgrim, if on, like ocean's tide,
Thy life in rayless darkness flow,
While trials, round thee spreading wide,
Seem blighting every hope below;—

Know there is One whose soothing sway
Can, like the moon on ocean's breast,
Despair's dread darkness chase away,
And on thy soul in radiance rest.

He nearest seems in sorrow's hour!
He cheers the dying sufferer's bed;
He bids the mourner weep no more,
And wreathes with rays the martyr's head.

Then, Pilgrim, ere thy days decline,
Oh! strive this blessed love to gain!
For, if this calming smile be thine,
Life's direst storms must rage in vain.