THE RAFT.

ALL shrouded by the blackening fog,
Sea borne without a sail;

The prayers upon our quivering lips
Bursting in one loud wail;

Two living days, two deathless nights,
We swept before the gale!

The giant billows scared us not,

Despair had palsied fear:

Time was annulled; hope was so far,

Eternity so near.

The earth slipped from us silently,

As an old forgotten year.

No room was there for one sweet thought
In all that boundless space :

In memory's eyes so fixed so stern,
Our souls could find no grace.

The sins of all our lives rose up
And mocked us to the face.

Grim forms, torn frantic from their hold, The cruel waters waft;

Till one dread cry along the sea

Rolls echoing fore and aft :

"God! who shall be the last to stand

Alone upon the raft ?"

It came the sickening horror grew,
Like shapes that thrill our sleep.

As dropped each corse, these eyes beheld
The ravening fishes leap.

Of seventy souls, one only left

To brave the angry deep!

With streaming hair, the dead, stone-eyed,
Peered where the raft was riven;

And through the chinks white faces glared,
Defying fate and Heaven:

Till seemed the planks whereto I clung
By the snaked furies driven.

Long gazed I soul-struck and appalled.
I could not bless nor pray.

My life like ships on rapids borne,
Went down another day;

Where, robed in fog, the Levite Sun
Passed scornful on his way.

I nothing recked of shows or signs;
Of mist that came and parted;
Nor rush of winds, nor chase of waves,
Nor birds my presence started.

No voice brought more through my lost world
Bread to the hungry hearted.

Cold, gasping, tortured, and athirst,

My maddening senses failing,

Scarce could this arm the signal wave,

Some chance brought rescue hailing ;—

1

When lo! a goodly ship, full trim,

Across the moon wake sailing!

Cast prone on the redeeming deck,
Sunk slow in shivering sleep,

By the meek tears down dropping warm,

I felt the angels weep;

And saw at last, with eyes of soul,

God moving on the deep.

E. L. HERvey.

THE DYING BOYS ON THE RAFT.

THERE were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one
Was more robust and hardy to the view,

But he died early; and when he was gone,

His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw
One glance on him, and said, "Heaven's will be done,
I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown

Into the deep, without a tear or groan.

The other father had a weaklier child,
Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit held aloof his fate;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,

As if to win a part from off the weight

He saw increasing on his father's heart,

With the deep deadly thought, that they must part,

M