“Ah, wherefore didst thou swell the storm When good ships went to sea; And why was bent the tall, stout mast— The cordage rent by thee; And why, when shattered bark went down, Thy shout of victory? “Oh! bring back tidings of the lost To many an anxious ear; Bear to the mourner, mighty wind, The last words thou didst hear; One token give—some simple things From those who were so dear. “And tell us—” “Mortal, why dost ask These tidings of the wind— Dost think that of the unfathomed deep The secrets thou shall find? As well might hope, with filmy thread, The storm’s wild rage to bind. “If o’er the ocean I have swept, And lashed its waves to heaven, While high before me on the surge The hapless bark was driven, And loud and fearful rose the cry Of men from warm life riven. “Or if I kissed the pale, calm brow Of some fair bride of death, And colder made the cold pure snow Where froze her heart aneath, And mingled with mine own low moan, Her last faint flitting breath. “If I have stilled the infant’s sob Upon its mother’s breast, While closer, closer in her arms Her treasured one was pressed, Until my wailing lullaby Had hushed the babe to rest. “I did His bidding who doth hold In his all-powerful hand The whirlwind that hath swept in might O’er ocean-wave and land; I questioned not why such things were— Can mortal understand? “Enough, that thou hast wept the dead, Since last was heard my tone; Enough, that thy poor human heart Has sorrowed not alone; Enough, that when thou hearest now, I tell of treasures gone. “There has been beauty in my path, And I have whispered low To rose-buds till their cheek has flushed; Have fanned eve’s crimson glow, And dimpled founts, where sunbeams danced, And mingled with their flow. “Many a shout from a merry troop Of children at their play, And gladsome tone of mirth and joy Have I borne in my flight away; And odors of heaven my wings have caught Where the holy knelt to pray. “Do thou His bidding—question not, Nor cower like frighted dove, There’s a home where the storm-winds never sweep, In the heaven of heavens above. Thy jewels are garnered in that bright land With their God—and God is Love.” * * * * * STANZAS FOR MUSIC. In golden dreams the night goes by, And sweet the world of sleep to me; For, moon-like ’mid her starry sky, My brightest dream is still of thee. As swells the sea beneath the glance Of moonbeams in their midnight play, So ’neath thine eyes my bosom pants, My heart’s deep midnight wakes in day. A.