LXXXIV.

Aid for one sinking! Thy lone brightness gleam’d On his wild face, just lifted o’er the wave, With its worn, fearful, _human_ look, that seem’d To cry, through surge and blast--“I perish--save!” Not to the winds--not vainly! Thou wert nigh, Thy hand was stretch’d to fainting agony, Even in the portals of th’ unquiet grave! O Thou that art the life! and yet didst bear Too much of mortal woe to turn from mortal prayer!