When it is found,—­when it is found, how great
  Will be the wonder of these blind and mad! 
How great will be the wonder and the hate,
Waking to see the glorious truth too late
  Will he, too, see his error, and be sad?

The wind sweeps weirdly o’er the heaven to-night,
  Weirdly and black, as though from guilty deeds,—­
From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight,
Leaving the drowning in their direful plight—­
  Leaving the drown’d low waving in the weeds.

No stars, no stars again!  Oh woe! again
  Night drowns me in its darkness and its gloom,
And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain,
Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain;
  All things are leagued to darken down my doom.

Perchance it is that I am growing weak,
  And faint with wandering afar, afar,
And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek;
And yet I must not ask, I must not speak,
  Nor tell—­the secret of the Saviour star.

No! dumb,—­dumb,—­I shall set me down to scan
  Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space,
Hesper, heaven’s loveliest, leading up the van—­
To-morrow—­yes! to-morrow I shall watch, and man
  Shall see this wonder when I reach the place.

Will the babe know me—­ope its sweet blue eyes—­
  And stretch its little arms to clasp me round? 
Ah! yes, God will send knowledge from the skies,
In pity for my prayers, and tears, and sighs,
  Angels will sing for joy that I have found
  My treasure, and he—­he will hear the sound!

Cold—­cold it is—­the wind is bitter chill—­
  And the rain falls like curses on my head—­
No! no! not curses, for the drops say still
That there’s an end to sorrow, and all ill
Flows from us like the water down a hill;
  The star shall shine, and all the clouds be sped....

* * * * *

  The sought-for Star uprose upon the dead.

UNDER THE SEA.

Deep in the bosom of the ocean,
  Where sunshine fades to twilight gloom,
  The pure pearls lie, and the coral bloom
Rests unsway’d by the upper motion—­
  Calm and still the hours pass by
  The lovely things that sleeping lie,
Deep in the bosom of the ocean.

The thunder rolls from cloud to cloud,
  And the bitter blast sweeps o’er the sea,
  Shaking the waters mightily;
But ne’er the tempest’s voice so loud,
  Sinketh down to the things that lie—­
  The lovely things that sleeping lie,
Deep in the bosom of the ocean.

The icebergs crack with a sullen boom,
  Riven by the hands of the angry North;
  And, like the Angel of Wrath sent forth,
The whirlwind stalks with the breath of doom,
  Crushing, like dust ’neath its heavy tread,
  The last frail spar o’er the seaman’s head;
But nought can reach the things that lie—­
The lovely things that sleeping lie,
  Deep in the bosom of the ocean.