Oracles

THE STORM 8I Nay, O my mother, in eternal calm thy virginal depths lie. The peace of God, that passeth understanding, that am I ! Even I, perceiving deeply beneath the eyes of flame The soul that, kindling, is not kindled : I have known thy Name. Awake, O soaring billows ! Lighten the raging dome, Wrap the wide horizon in a single cloak of flaming foam, Leap in your fury ! Beat upon the shores unseen ! Devour your food, The broken cliff, the crumbled bank, the bar. I know the mood. Even so I see the terror of universal strife : Murderous war, and murderous peace, and miserable life : The pang of childbirth, and the pain of youth, and the fear of age, Life tossed and broken into dust in the elemental rage. Is not God part of every the tiniest spark of man ? Is He not moulded also in His Own Eternal Plan ? Even so ; as the woes of earth is the angry crested sea. Even so ; as Her great peace abideth in the deep—so He ! What wreck floats by us ? What pale corpse rolls horribly above, Tossed on the unbewailing foam, cast out of light and life and love ? The sea shall draw thee down, O brother, to her breast of peace, Her unimaginable springs, her bridal secrecies.