Upon the deck we lingered, A whisper scarce was heard; When hearts are stirred profoundest, Lips are without a word. "Let's say the Chaplet," softly A voice beside me spake. "Christ walked once in the darkness Across an Eastern lake, "And to-night we know the secret That will charm Him to our side: If we call upon His Mother, He will meet us on the tide." So we said the beads together, Up and down the little bark; And I believe that Jesus met us, With His Mother, in the dark. And our prayers were scarcely ended When, on mountain-top afar, We beheld the morning meeting With the night's last fading star. And I left the lake; but never Shall the years to come efface From my heart the dream and vision Of that strange and lonely place. ____ February 1, 1873. "Peace! Be Still" Sometimes the Saviour sleeps, and it is dark; For, oh! His eyes are this world's only light, And when they close wild waves rush on His bark, And toss it through the dead hours of the night. So He slept once upon an eastern lake, In Peter's bark, while wild waves raved at will; A cry smote on Him, and when He did wake, He softly whispered, and the sea grew still. It is a mystery: but He seems to sleep As erst he slept in Peter's waved-rocked bark; A storm is sweeping all across the deep, While Pius prays, like Peter, in the dark. The sky is darkened, and the shore is far, The tempest's strength grows fiercer every hour: Upon the howling deep there shines no star -- Why sleeps He still? Why does He hide His power? Fear not! a holy hand is on the helm That guides the bark thro' all the tempest's wrath; Quail not! the wildest waves can never whelm The ship of faith upon its homeward path. The Master sleeps -- His pilot guards the bark; He soon will wake, and at His mighty will The light will shine where all before was dark -- The wild waves still remember: "Peace! be still." ____ Rome, 1873. Good Friday O Heart of Three-in-the evening, You nestled the thorn-crowned head; He leaned on you in His sorrow, And rested on you when dead. Ah! Holy Three-in-the evening He gave you His richest dower; He met you afar on Calvary, And made you "His own last hour". O Brow of Three-in-the evening, Thou wearest a crimson crown; Thou art Priest of the hours forever, And thy voice, as thou goest down The cycles of time, still murmurs The story of love each day: "I held in death the Eternal, In the long and the far-away." O Heart of Three-in-the evening, Mine beats with thine to-day; Thou tellest the olden story, I kneel -- and I weep and pray. ____ Boulogne, sur mer. My Beads Sweet, blessed beads! I would not part With one of you for richest gem That gleams in kingly diadem; Ye know the history of my heart. For I have told you every grief In all the days of twenty years, And I have moistened you with tears, And in your decades found relief.