After the Storm.

(Penciled in the bay-window above the Golden Gate, North Beach,
San Francisco, February 20, 1873.)

All day the winds the sea had lashed,
The fretted waves in anger dashed
Against the rocks in tumult wild
Above the surges roughly piled -
No blue above, no peace below,
The waves still rage, the winds still blow.

Dull and muffled the sunset gun
Tells that the dreary day is done;
The sea-birds fly with drooping wing -
Chill and shadow on every thing -
No blue above, no peace below,
The waves still rage, the winds still blow.

The clouds dispart; the sapphire dye
In beauty spreads o'er the western sky,
Cloud-fires blaze o'er the Gate of Gold,
Gleaming and glowing, fold on fold -
All blue above, all peace below,
Nor waves now rage, nor winds now blow.

Souls that are lashed by storms of pain,
Eyes that drip with sorrow's rain;
Hearts that burn with passion strong,
Bruised and torn, and weary of wrong -
No light above, no peace within,
Battling with self, and torn by sin -

Hope on, hold on, the clouds will lift;
God's peace will come as his own sweet gift,
The light will shine at evening-time,
The reflected beams of the sunlit clime,
The blessed goal of the soul's long quest,
Where storms ne'er beat, and all are blest.