At the beautiful gate and other songs of faith / Lucy Larcom [electronic text]

NEAR SHORE.

THE seas of thought are deep and wide; Let those who will, O friend of mine, Sail forth without a chart or guide, Or plummet-line;

A blank of waters all around; A blank of azure overhead; An infinite of nothing found, Whence faith has fled.

The Name that we with reverence speak, Echoes across those wastes of thought; But they who go far off to seek, They hear it not.

The shores give back its sweetest sound From rivulet cool, and shadowing rock,

And voices that calm hearths surround With friendly talk.

Earth is our little island home, And heaven the neighboring continent, Whence winds to every inlet come With balmiest scent.

And tenderest whispers thence we hear From those who lately sailed across. They love us still; since heaven is near, Death is not loss.

From mountain slopes of breeze and balm, What melodies arrest the oar! What memories ripple through the calm! We'll keep near shore.

By sweet home instincts wafted on, By all the hopes that life has nursed, We hasten where the loved have gone, Who landed first.

If God be God, then heaven is real: We need not lose ourselves and Him In some vast sea of the ideal, Dreamy and dim.

He cheats not any soul. He gave Each being unity like His; Love, that links beings, He must save; Of Him it is.

Dear friend, we will not drift too far Mid billows, fogs, and blinding foam, To see Christ's beacon-light — the star That guides us home.

Moving towards heaven, we'll meet half-way Some pilot from that unseen strand; Then, anchoring safe in perfect day, Tread the firm land.

Thence onward and forever on Toward summits pried on summits bright: The lost are found, and we have won The Land of Light!

God is that country's glory: He Alike the confidence is found, Of those who try the uncertain sea, Or solid ground.

Yet we, for love of those who bend From yon clear heights, passed on before To wait our coming, — we, dear friend, Will keep near shore.