Lines
Suggested by the Wreck of the Minot Ledge Lighthouse.
On the rock, a beacon lighted,
Shone upon the stormy wave;
There to guide the bark, benighted:
Home of those, the true and brave.
Clouds of wrath the skies are veiling,
Danger, wreck, and death are nigh;
Lone and wild, the sea-bird’s wailing
As the storm-wind whistles by.
Tempests rave—fierce roars the ocean,
Higher swells the angry foam;
Winds and waves in wild commotion,
Fearful rock their storm-tossed home.
Night of anguish, wo and sorrow,
Wrapt in midnight’s pall of gloom,
Gleams no light upon the morrow,
Dark beneath a watery tomb.
Hark! the bell is loudly ringing
With a deep, and solemn wail.
Death-like knells around are flinging,
In the wild, terrific gale.
Still, the beacon-light is flashing,
None could reach them from the shore.
Towering waves, in fury dashing,
They must sink to rise no more.
Wrecks along the shore are lying,
On the heaving surges tossed;
Mournful winds and waves are sighing,
Ocean’s requiem for the lost;
Mighty dome, by tempest shattered,
Billows o’er thee darkly sweep,
Treasure far more precious, scattered
In the bosom of the deep.
Far beneath the rolling billow,
Sleep the noble, young and brave;
Ocean’s coral bed their pillow,
And their shroud, the foamy wave;
Wreck or monument, may never
Point the fatal rock, swept bare;
But enshrined in memory, ever,
Faithful hearts that perished there.
Addressed to a little Orphan Child.
Poor little orphan child!
I see thee happy now,
With glossy ringlets waving
O’er thy sunny brow;
With tender heart as light and free
As birds in summer air,
With beauty, grace, that well might vie
With rose and lily fair.
Poor little orphan child!
The tears steal down my cheek,
For oh! how little dreamest thou
The world is cold and bleak;
How little knowest thou the toil,
The turmoil, care, and strife,
The tears, the sighs, that may beset
The orphan’s path in life.
Poor little orphan child!
’Tis bitter hard to roam
In this cold, dark, unfeeling world,
Both friendless and alone,
Where friendship ends in selfish aims,
Lips smile but to deceive,
Unkindness mars the spirit’s peace,
And leaves the heart to grieve.
Poor little orphan child!
For thee is pained my heart;
Should sickness pale thy rosy cheek,
And light and hope depart,—
Oh, who would then be near to bathe
The weary, aching head,
And twine around thee, arms of love,
And joy and gladness shed.
Poor little orphan child!
Thou’lt miss a mother’s care,
To watch thy youthful steps,
Thy little griefs to share;
No voice is like a mother’s voice,
No look so sweet and mild,
No smile is like her loving smile,
Upon a darling child.
Oh! ye who revel in your ease,
The orphan’s cry should heed,
Nor with a cold indifference
Treat them in hour of need.
Ye know not of the anguish deep,
That rends their aching heart,
Or of the woe and misery
Your cold words may impart.
Poor little orphan child!
May angels guide their way,
For there are thousand treacherous paths,
That lead the feet astray.
Sin comes in many a dazzling form,—
Fearful the tempter’s power,
Oh, God of love forbid thy fall,
In the dark, trying hour.
Poor little orphan child!
Should tears e’er dim the eye,
And grief and sorrow fill the soul,
And friends no one be nigh;
There is a friend above, on whom
Cast all thy earthly care,
Who ne’er forsakes the fatherless,
But hears the orphan’s prayer.
Poor little orphan child!
I would not shade thy brow,
By telling thee of after years,
To make thee sorrow now.
Oh, no! in childish innocence
Play on with life and glee,
With dimpled cheek and joyous laugh,
So happy, pure and free.
Poor little orphan child!
Blest be thy passage o’er
The ever changing sea of life,
To Canaan’s peaceful shore.
There mayst thou safely land
Where sorrow ne’er will come,
To join thy loved—that happy band
In one eternal home.