For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend, Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand To fit their little streetward sitting-room With shelf and corner for the goods and stores. So all day long till Enoch's last at home, Shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe, Auger and saw, while Annie seem'd to hear Her own death-scaffold raising, shrill'd and rang, Till this was ended, and his careful hand,-- The space was narrow,--having order'd all Almost as neat and close as Nature packs Her blossom or her seedling, paused; and he, Who needs would work for Annie to the last, Ascending tired, heavily slept till morn. And Enoch faced this morning of farewell Brightly and boldly. All his Annie's fears, Save, as his Annie's, were a laughter to him. Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man Bow'd himself down, and in that mystery Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God, Pray'd for a blessing on his wife and babes Whatever came to him: and then he said 'Annie, this voyage by the grace of God Will bring fair weather yet to all of us. Keep a clean hearth and a clear fire for me, For I'll be back, my girl, before you know it.' Then lightly rocking baby's cradle 'and he, This pretty, puny, weakly little one,-- Nay--for I love him all the better for it-- God bless him, he shall sit upon my knees And I will tell him tales of foreign parts, And make him merry, when I come home again. Come Annie, come, cheer up before I go.' Him running on thus hopefully she heard, And almost hoped herself; but when he turn'd The current of his talk to graver things In sailor fashion roughly sermonizing On providence and trust in Heaven, she heard, Heard and not heard him; as the village girl, Who sets her pitcher underneath the spring, Musing on him that used to fill it for her, Hears and not hears, and lets it overflow. At length she spoke 'O Enoch, you are wise; And yet for all your wisdom well know I That I shall look upon your face no more.' 'Well then,' said Enoch, 'I shall look on yours. Annie, the ship I sail in passes here (He named the day) get you a seaman's glass, Spy out my face, and laugh at all your fears.' But when the last of those last moments came, 'Annie my girl, cheer up, be comforted, Look to the babes, and till I come again, Keep everything shipshape, for I must go. And fear no more for me; or if you fear Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds. Is He not yonder in those uttermost Parts of the morning? if I flee to these Can I go from Him? and the sea is His, The sea is His: He made it.'