Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/50

Thy form, thou Son of God!—a wrathful deep,
With foam, and cloud, and tempest, round thee spread,
And such a weight of night!—a night, when sleep
From the fierce rocking of the billows fled.
A bark show'd dim beyond thee, with its mast
Bow'd, and its rent sail shivering to the blast;
But, like a spirit in thy gliding tread,
Thou, as o'er glass, didst walk that stormy sea

So still thy white robes fell!—no breath of air
Within their long and slumberous folds had sway!
So still the waves of parted, shadowy hair
From thy clear brow flow'd droopingly away!
Dark were the Heavens above thee, Saviour!—dark
The gulfs, Deliverer! round the straining bark!
But thou!—o'er all thine aspect and array
Was pour'd one stream of pale, broad, silvery light—