The Graves of Ocean

Deep down be­neath th’un­rest­ing surge

There is a peace­ful tomb;

Storm raves ab­ove

calm reigns be­low;

Safe

safe from ocean’s wreck and woe;

Safe from its tide’s un­ceas­ing flow

The wea­ry find a home.

Calm shel­ter from time’s vex­ing winds;

Sure an­chor­age at last!

The blind­ing sea-drift blinds not here;

No break­er’s boom the sleep­ers fear

No an­gry ty­phoon hov­ers near

Their lat­est storm is past.

Done now with per­il and with toil

They sleep the bless­èd sleep.

The last wild hur­ri­cane is o’er;

All si­lent now life’s thun­der-roar

All qui­et now the wreck-strewn shore;

’Tis we

not they

who weep.

Who dies in Christ the Lord dies well

Though on the lone­ly main;

As soft the pil­low of the deep

As tran­quil the un­cur­tained sleep

As on the couch where fond ones weep;

And they shall rise again.

Not saf­er on the sea of glass

Before the throne of God!

As sac­red is that ocean cave

Where weeds in­stead of myr­tles wave;

As near to God that un­known grave

As the dear church­yard’s sod.

O’er the loved clay God sets His watch

The an­gels guard it well

Till sum­moned by the trum­pet loud

Like star em­erg­ing from the cloud

Or blos­som from its shel­ter­ing shroud

It leaves its ocean cell.

The sea shall give them back

though death

The well known form de­stroy;

Nor rock

nor sand

nor foam can chain

Nor mor­tal pri­son house re­tain;

Each at­om shall awake again

And rise with song and joy.

The cold sea’s cold­est

hard­est depths

Shall hear the trump of God;

Death’s reign on sea and land is o’er

God’s trea­sured dust he must re­store;

God’s bur­ied gems he holds no more

Beneath or wave or clod.

When the cold pil­low co­vered them

No so­lemn pray­er was said;

Yet not the less their crown shall be

In the great morn of vic­to­ry

When

from their mor­tal fet­ters free

They leave their peace­ful bed.

What though to speak the words of love

No dear ones then should come.

Without a name up­on their bier

A bro­ther’s or a sis­ter’s tear

Their Heav­en will be as bright and near

As from their boy­hood’s home.

Star of the pro­mised morn­ing

rise!

Star of the throb­bing wave

Ascend! and o’er the sa­ble brine

With re­sur­rect­ion splen­dor shine;

Burst through the clouds with beams di­vine

Mighty to shine and save.

O Morn­ing Star! O ris­en Lord!

Destroyer of the tomb!

Star of the liv­ing and the dead

Lift up at length Thy long veiled head

O’er land and sea Thy glor­ies shed;

Light of the morn­ing

come!

Into each tomb Thy ra­di­ance pour

Let life

not death

pre­vail

Make haste

great Con­quer­or

make haste!

Call up the dead of ag­es past

Gather Thy pre­cious gems at last

From ocean’s deep­est vale.

Speak

migh­ty Life

and wake the dead!

Like sta­tue from the stone

Like mu­sic from long brok­en strings

Like gush­ings from de­sert­ed springs

Like dew up­on the dawn’s soft wings

Rouse each be­lov­èd one!