We never Here can sever Any now from the forever Interclasping near and far! For each minute Holds within it All the hours of the infinite, As one sky holds every star. Wrecked The winds are singing a death-knell Out on the main to-night; The sky droops low -- and many a bark That sailed from harbors bright, Like many an one before, Shall enter port no more: And a wreck shall drift to some unknown shore Before to-morrow's light. The clouds are hanging a death-pall Over the sea to-night; The stars are veiled -- and the hearts that sailed Away from harbors bright, Shall sob their last for their quiet home -- And, sobbing, sink 'neath the whirling foam Before the morning's light. The waves are weaving a death-shroud Out on the main to-night; Alas! the last prayer whispered there By lips with terror white! Over the ridge of gloom, Not a star will loom! God help the souls that will meet their doom Before the dawn of light! * * * * * The breeze is singing a joy song Over the sea to-day; The storm is dead and the waves are red With the flush of the morning's ray; And the sleepers sleep, but beyond the deep The eyes that watch for the ships shall weep For the hearts they bore away. Dreaming The moan of a wintry soul Melted into a summer song, And the words, like the wavelet's roll, Moved murmuringly along. And the song flowed far and away, Like the voice of a half-sleeping rill -- Each wave of it lit by a ray -- But the sound was so soft and so still, And the tone was so gentle and low, None heard the song till it had passed; Till the echo that followed its flow Came dreamingly back from the past. 'Twas too late! -- a song never returns That passes our pathway unheard; As dust lying dreaming in urns Is the song lying dead in a word. For the birds of the skies have a nest, And the winds have a home where they sleep, And songs, like our souls, need a rest, Where they murmur the while we may weep. * * * * * But songs -- like the birds o'er the foam, Where the storm wind is beating their breast, Fly shoreward -- and oft find a home In the shelter of words where they rest. A Thought Hearts that are great beat never loud, They muffle their music when they come; They hurry away from the thronging crowd With bended brows and lips half dumb, And the world looks on and mutters -- "Proud." But when great hearts have passed away Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud, And in love they kneel around their clay. Hearts that are great are always lone, They never will manifest their best; Their greatest greatness is unknown -- Earth knows a little -- God, the rest. "Yesterdays" Gone! and they return no more, But they leave a light in the heart; The murmur of waves that kiss a shore Will never, I know, depart.