The well, enwrapped in a deep watery shroud,
Sunk to its tomb.
As one who by the beach roams far and wide,
Remnant of wreck to save,
Again I wandered when the salt sea-tide
Withdrew its wave;
And there, unchanged, no taint in all its sweet,
No anger in its tone,
Still as it thought some happy brook to meet,
The spring flowed on.
While waves of bitterness rolled o'er its head,
Its heart had folded deep
Within itself, and quiet fancies led,
As in a sleep;
Till, when the ocean loosed his heavy chain,
And gave it back to day,
Calmly it turned to its own life again
And gentle way.
Happy, I thought, that which can draw its life
Deep from the nether springs,
Safe 'neath the pressure, tranquil mid the strife,
Of surface things.
Safe—for the sources of the nether springs
Up in the far hills lie;
Calm—for the life its power and freshness brings
Down from the sky.
So, should temptations threaten, and should sin
Roll in its whelming flood,
Make strong the fountain of thy grace within
My soul, O God!
If bitter scorn, and looks, once kind, grown strange,
With crushing chillness fall,
From secret wells let sweetness rise, nor change
My heart to gall!
When sore thy hand doth press, and waves of thine
Afflict me like a sea,—
Deep calling deep,—infuse from source divine
Thy peace in me!
And when death's tide, as with a brimful cup,
Over my soul doth pour,