Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? I have lived my life, and that which I have done If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 415 For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 420 425 430 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 435 Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 440 But when that moan had past for evermore, 445 Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb The last hard footstep of that iron crag; BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 5 10 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 15 THE BROOK. I COME from haunts of coot and hern. And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. 5 5 CROSSING THE BAR. SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place, The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. |