The Storm

________________________________________________
Title:     The Storm
Author: Adelaide Anne Procter [More Titles by Procter]

The tempest rages wild and high,
The waves lift up their voice and cry
Fierce answers to the angry sky,--
Miserere Domine.

Through the black night and driving rain,
A ship is struggling, all in vain
To live upon the stormy main;--
Miserere Domine.

The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,
Vain is it now to strive or dare;
A cry goes up of great despair,--
Miserere Domine.

The stormy voices of the main,
The moaning wind, and pelting rain
Beat on the nursery window pane:-
Miserere Domine.

Warm curtained was the little bed,
Soft pillowed was the little head;
"The storm will wake the child," they said:-
Miserere Domine.

Cowering among his pillows white
He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,
"Father, save those at sea to-night!"
Miserere Domine.

The morning shone all clear and gay,
On a ship at anchor in the bay,
And on a little child at play,--
Gloria tibi Domine!

[The end]
Adelaide Anne Procter's poem: Storm

________________________________________________



GO TO TOP OF SCREEN