AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves Beat turbulent with terrible uproar! Is there no rest from tossing,--no repose? Where shall we find a haven and a shore? What is secure from the loud-dashing wave? There go our riches, and our hopes fly there; There go the faces of our best beloved, Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair. Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home? The dashing spray beats out the household fire; By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls Over the embers of our lost desire. By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm, We hear triumphant notes of battle roll. Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail; The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul! Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm Weak human hand and weary human eyes. The shout and clamor of our dreary strife Goes up conflicting to the angry skies. But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong; Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be, _It hath its Master:_ from the depths shall rise New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea. No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm! Forever past the anguish and the strife; The poor old weary earth shall bloom again, With the bright foliage of that better life. And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past, And misery be a forgotten dream. The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold By the calm meadows and the quiet stream. Be still, be still, and know that he is God; Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray, Till from the throes of this last anguish rise The light and gladness of that better day. "ONLY A YEAR." ONE year ago,--a ringing voice, A clear blue eye, And clustering curls of sunny hair, Too fair to die. Only a year,--no voice, no smile, No glance of eye, No clustering curls of golden hair, Fair but to die! One year ago,--what loves, what schemes Far into life! What joyous hopes, what high resolves, What generous strife! The silent picture on the wall, The burial stone, Of all that beauty, life, and joy Remain alone! One year,--one year,--one little year, And so much gone! And yet the even flow of life Moves calmly on. The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, Above that head; No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray Says he is dead. No pause or hush of merry birds, That sing above, Tells us how coldly sleeps below The form we love. Where hast thou been this year, beloved? What hast thou seen? What visions fair, what glorious life, Where thou hast been? The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong! 'Twixt us and thee; The mystic veil! when shall it fall, That we may see?