SLEEP AT SEA.
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ound the deep waters:--Who shall sound that deep?--Too short the plummet,And the watchmen sleep.Some dream of effortUp a toilsome steep;Some dream of pasture groundsFor harmless sheep. White shapes flit to and froFrom mast to mast;They feel the distant tempestThat nears them fast:Great rocks are straight ahead,Great shoals not past;They shout to one anotherUpon the blast. O, soft the streams drop musicBetween the hills,And musical the birds' nestsBeside those rills:The nests are types of homeLove-hidden from ills,The nests are types of spiritsLove-music fills. So dream the sleepers,Each man in his place;The lightning shows the smileUpon each face:The ship is driving, driving,It drives apace:And sleepers smile, and spiritsBewail their case. The lightning glares and reddensAcross the skies;It seems but sunsetTo those sleeping eyes.When did the sun go downOn such a wise?From such a sunsetWhen shall day arise? "Wake," call the spirits:But to heedless ears;They have forgotten sorrowsAnd hopes and fears;They have forgotten perilsAnd smiles and tears;Their dream has held them long,Long years and years. "Wake," call the spirits again:But it would takeA louder summonsTo bid them awake.Some dream of pleasureFor another's sake;Some dream, forgetfulOf a lifelong ache. One by one slowly,Ah, how sad and slow!Wailing and prayingThe spirits rise and go:Clear stainless spirits,White,--as white as snow;Pale spirits, wailingFor an overthrow. One by one flitting,Like a mournful birdWhose song is tired at lastFor no mate heard.The loving voice is silent,The useless word;One by one flitting,Sick with hope deferred. Driving and driving,The ship drives amain:While swift from mast to mastShapes flit again,Flit silent as the silenceWhere men lie slain;Their shadow cast upon the sailsIs like a stain. No voice to call the sleepers,No hand to raise:They sleep to death in dreamingOf length of days.Vanity of vanities,The Preacher says:Vanity is the endOf all their ways.
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