THE LIGHTHOUSE.
WHERE the solemn waves the whole day long
Seem saying, "Never! Never!"
As they creep to the feet of the hollow cliffs,
Fall back, roll in forever,
There stands a light-house, white and tall,
That, like the house in the parable,
Stands "on a rock" and braves the shock
When tempests beat and torrents fall.
Ghost-like at early dawn it looms
Above the gray, cold ocean,
And dull and chill stands gloomy still
When wakes all else to motion;
But when the evening shadows sink,
And all the lonesome stony coast
Is lost to sight, while through the night
Drive in the storm clouds black as ink,
'T is then that from that silent pile
Darts far a ruddy dawning,
Lighting the gloom, where the breakers boom,
In priceless, ceaseless warning!
Our Little Ones.