Ye dark wild sands, o'er which th' impatient eye
Travels in haste to watch the evening sky,
When last I gazed, how nobly heaved your breast,
In purple waves and scattered sunbeams drest!
Then o'er you shouted many a gallant crew,
And in gay bands the sea-fowl circling flew;
In your embrace you held the restless tide,
And shared awhile great Ocean's power and pride.
But now how sad, how dreary is the scene
In which so much of life hath lately been!
Your barren wastes untraversed by a sail,
Your only voice the curlew's distant wail;
With rocky limbs and furrowed brow you lie
Like some lone corpse by living things passed by;
Till Night in mercy spreads her clouded pall,
And rising winds mourn at your funeral.
Yes, you are changed, but not more changed than he
Who lately stood beside that smiling sea;
For whom each bark which hastened to the shore
Some welcome freight of love or honour bore;
Who saw reflected in the peaceful flood
His home made happy by the bright and good.
Gladly he looked upon you; now, apart,
He veils his brow and hides his desolate heart;
From him life's joys have quickly ebbed away,
Leaving the rocks, the sands, and the declining day.
To-morrow's tide again the shore will lave,
To-morrow's sun will gild the crested wave;
New ships will launch and speed across the main,
And the wild sea-fowl ply their sport again;
But for the broken-hearted there is none
To gather back the spoils which Death hath won.
None, did I say? O foolish, impious thought,
In one whom God hath made, and Christ hath bought!
Thou who dost hold the ocean in Thy hand,
And the sun's courses guide by Thy command,
Hast Thou no morrow for the darkened soul,
No tide returning o'er its sands to roll?
Must its deep bays, once emptied of their sea,
For ever waste, for ever silent be?
Not such Thy counsels--not for this the Cross
Stretched its wide arms, and saved a world from loss!
When life's great waters are by sorrow dried,
Then gush new fountains from Christ's wounded side;
The Ark is there to gather in our love,
The Spirit, dove-like, o'er the stream to move.
Then look again, and mirrored in thy breast
Behold the home in which thy dear ones rest;
See forms which lately vanished from thy sight,
Shine back with crowns, and palms, and robes of light!
See richer freights than ever ocean bore
Guided by angel pilots to the shore!
In faith, in penitence, in hope shall be
Thy traffic on that bright and changeless sea.

Memoirs of James Robert Hope-Scott, Volume 2 by Ornsby, Robert, 1820-1889

LOW TIDE AT SUNSET ON THE HIGHLAND COAST.

ON RESUMING HIS PROFESSION.