IV.

Bellying Earth no anchor throws Stouter than the breath that blows, Night and Sorrow cling in vain, It must toss in day again.

Hospital and battle-field, Myriad spots where fate is sealed, Brinks that crumble, sins that urge, Plunge again into that surge.

How the purple breakers throw Round me their insatiate glow, Sweep my deck of hideous freight, Pour through fastening and grate!

I awake from night's alarms In the bliss of living arms; Melted goes my leaden dream Down the warmth of this Gulf-Stream.

'Tis the trade-wind of my soul, Wafting life to make it whole: All the night it joyward blew, Though I neither hoped nor knew.

Fresher blow me out to sea, Morning-tost I fain would be, Sweep my deck and pile it high With the ingots of the sky.

Give me freight to carry round To a place with night that's drowned, That the Gulf-Stream of the day Glitter then my Milky-Way.

WET-WEATHER WORK.

BY A FARMER.