by Alice Cokayne.
Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.2 #7 (Mar 1877).
I'm sitting alone by the moaning sea,
Thinking of those who have flown far from me
The swallow is flying across thy foam,
To a tiny nest which she calls her home,
And the flowers are springing in ev'ry glen,
All but my own are returning again.
The fair moon flings o'er thee at lonely night
A beautiful track of soft silver light;
I thought when a child 'twas the heavenly way
The angels went home at the close of day,
And I longed with swift and with eager feet
To run up that path to the "Shining Street."
I dreamt a sad dream in those days of youth,
Which I heeded not as "too strange for truth;"
I thought the jewels I deemed so fair,
E'en the gem that I was so proud to wear,
Had been scattered—some in the hungry sea,
One (its glory gone) was brought back to me.
A sailor boy we had who ne'er returned
To arms that longed for him, and hearts that burned;
But while we listened at the lowly door,
He crossed another threshold just before,
And many dear ones more have gone away
To bloom above, in God's undying day.
At last the dearest, whose fond name I bore,
Who gave me his love, and whose ring I wore,
Came sailing across the dark ocean wide,
Where thousands sleep, far from each waiting bride;
Yet still I thought o'er the boisterous foam
My loved one must surely come safely home.
So I watched and waited as love can wait,
For the lost eyes it seeks both long and late,
With a treach'rous quiet within my breast,
Like the calm of the Alpine snows at rest,
Ere the avalanche fall, and bright things lie,
Crushed under the snow, 'neath a cloudless sky.
On the southern coast, mid the laughing spray.
A brave ship went down in the twilight gray;
True hearts were on board, from a far off land,
Whose spirits all longed for their own loved strand,
But their morning broke on a shore so fair
That they'll call it home tho' we are not there.
But I could not bear that with glad surprise
My husband should waken in yon bright skies,
That heaven be heaven and I not nigh,
Not a foot on the golden stair. Yet why?
Ah! the waters over the dead may roll,
But thy waves and billows o'erflow my soul.
They brought him to me as in death he lay,
Unbruised by the storm of that fearful day;
Not a wound or hurt on the noble head,
But the eyes were dim, for their light had fled;
I looked in those windows, but could not see
In the tenantless house, one hope for me.
My jewels bright, in the haven above
Ye are gathered all by the Saviour's love;
I can spare ye now for the little time
That I tarry here; soon my mournful rhyme
Will be changed for the celestial thought,
The glorious song the redeemed are taught.
I am wearing a pearl within my breast,
A priceless gem, giving peaceful rest;
That they will love me more than e'er before,
I shall be so fair when I reach that shore;
For tho' beauty's here is not mine to share,
I shall shine like them in the sunlight there.