Classic Poem

'Tis only when the ocean lies
In undisturbed and waveless sleep,
No breath beneath the bending skies,
No ripple on the spreading deep, —
Nothing to mar its slumb'rous rest,
No fleck upon its limpid blue,
That, in its broad and placid breast,
Heaven is reflected pure and true.

So with the heart of human-kind:
'Tis only when in perfect rest,
No cloud of doubt upon the mind,
No dream of ill within the breast, —
The conscience clear, the faith secure,
Each thought the pinion of a prayer,
Each aspiration high and pure,
That heaven is softly mirrored there.

Yet, even when the tempests sweep
Tumultuous o'er the tossing sea,
And all the furies of the deep
Meet in uproarious revelry;
When wild winds rage, and ocean raves,
And thunder-black each billow seems,
Still heaven is mirrored 'neath the waves
In broken and disjointed gleams!

So is it with the heart of man:
When tempests howl and waves are high;
When faith is growing pale and wan,
And hope's last beam about to die;
No promised calm the soul to cheer,
By winds of passion tossed and driven: —
E'en then, beneath the storms, appear
Distorted gleams and hints of heaven!