THE MASTER'S VOICE

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jan 1, 1902

THE MASTER'S VOICE.

[From Donahue's Magazine.]

The waves were weary, and they went to sleep, The winds were hushed, The starlight flushed The furrowed face of all the mighty deep.

The billows, yestereve so dark and wild, Wave strangely now— A calm upon their brow Like that which rests upon a cradled child.

The sky was bright, and every single star, With gleaming face, Was in its place, And looked upon the sea—so fair and far.

And all was still—still as a temple dim— When low and faint, As mourner's plaint, Died the last note of vesper hymn.

A bark slept on the sea, and in the bark Slept Mary's Son— The only One Whose face is light where all, all else is dark.

His brow was heavenward turned, His face was fair, He dreamed of me On that still sea— The stars He made gleamed through His hair.

And lo! a moan moved o'er the mighty deep; The sky grew dark! The little bark Felt all the waves awaking from their sleep.

The winds wailed wild, and wilder billows beat; The bark was tossed; Shall all be lost? But Mary's Son slept on, serene and sweet.

The tempest raged in all its mighty wrath, The winds howled on, All hope seemed gone, And darker waves surged round the bark's lone path.

The sleeper woke! He gazed upon the deep— He whispered: “Peace! Winds; wild waves, cease! Be still!” The tempest fled; the ocean fell asleep.