Poems (Ford)/Wrecks
WRECKS.
The grand old monarch, Ocean, a mighty sceptre wields;
Proud ships, with treasure laden, sweep o'er his trackless fields;
In playful scorn he bears them upon his crested waves,
Or hurls them down in anger into his gloomy caves.
Proud ships, with treasure laden, sweep o'er his trackless fields;
In playful scorn he bears them upon his crested waves,
Or hurls them down in anger into his gloomy caves.
He rises up in wonder when fierce the wild winds blow,
With pealing voice of thunder, and hoary locks of snow;
His awful brow deep furrowed with stern and angry frown,
As wrathfully he lashes the rocks that gird him round.
With pealing voice of thunder, and hoary locks of snow;
His awful brow deep furrowed with stern and angry frown,
As wrathfully he lashes the rocks that gird him round.
Around his feet lie scattered, on dreary rocks and sands,
The power his arm hath shattered, the wealth of many lands;
Wrecks of life, strength and beauty, whose dirge the sea-breeze moans,
'Mong shattered spars and timbers lie heaped their bleaching bones.
The power his arm hath shattered, the wealth of many lands;
Wrecks of life, strength and beauty, whose dirge the sea-breeze moans,
'Mong shattered spars and timbers lie heaped their bleaching bones.
But life's rough, storm-tossed ocean has sadder wrecks to show—
Proud hearts whose deep devotion is wasted all below,
Who, chained to earthly treasures, forget to look above,
Forget the Hand that guards them in mercy and in love.
Proud hearts whose deep devotion is wasted all below,
Who, chained to earthly treasures, forget to look above,
Forget the Hand that guards them in mercy and in love.
Oh, when our weak earth-idols are shattered by our side,
Or from our deep soul-worship turn off with scorn or pride,
Alas for the heart's ruin! an age of toil and tears
Were powerless to restore us the wreck of wasted years.
Or from our deep soul-worship turn off with scorn or pride,
Alas for the heart's ruin! an age of toil and tears
Were powerless to restore us the wreck of wasted years.
The wrecks of fallen empires, of worldly pomp and pride,
Gleam through the sluggish waters of Time's resistless tide—
Sad monuments of grandeur and wasted power, they show
That earthly bliss is fleeting, and all is wreck below.
Gleam through the sluggish waters of Time's resistless tide—
Sad monuments of grandeur and wasted power, they show
That earthly bliss is fleeting, and all is wreck below.
Oh, land of the immortal! where grief or change ne'er come,
Ope wide thy golden portals, and guide lost wanderers home,
Where fadeless flowers are blooming in fields by angels trod,
And white-robed legions singing around the throne of God.
Ope wide thy golden portals, and guide lost wanderers home,
Where fadeless flowers are blooming in fields by angels trod,
And white-robed legions singing around the throne of God.