Part 36 (1/2)

It was not so hard to speak now.

”I've got my finger on a tex' here,” said a white-haired, weather-beaten Basin, rising; ”'In His love and in His pity He redeemed us.' Now thar was a time when I didn't want n.o.body to say a word to me about pity--no sir! Love I wanted and admirin' I wanted, but no pity; that thar set me broilin'. But--now--I'd e'en a'most ruther have pity than love; 'nd I thank G.o.d most o' all that, in my pride and in my stren'th, and not wantin' no help an' gittin' mad at the thought of it--all'as He pitied me, an' He pitied me cl'ar through to the end.

”For I tell ye, thar can be love and admirin', that flashes up in the pan mighty strong at first, an' goes out, an' nary mite o' pity in it.

But thar' ain't no pity 'ithout love; and it's a love 't ain't no fine-spun thread, but a ten-inch hawser; a love 't stands by ye when thar' 's a trackless path afore and a lost trail ahind; when ye're scuddin' afore the squall, an' the seas come thunderin' down on ye; when yer boat 's in splinters, and ye're a-bitin' the sand. Yis, an'

when yer cruisin' 's all done at las', an' ye're jest a poor old hulk around in the way, driftin' in an' out 'ith the tides, 't calls out to ye, as ef ye was somebody, 's.h.i.+p ahoy! What port?'

”An' ye says, kind o' hopin', but not darin' nothin', 'The port as they calls Heaven.'

”An' 't shouts back to ye, strong across the wave, 'What are ye doubtin', man? That 's a port sure! and home 's thar, and folks 's thar, and the little children ye lost is thar. D'ye want a pilot?'

”'Ay, ay, sir!--ay, ay, sir!'”

The deep voice sank in tears, then broke out again:

”Git under the lee o' the wrack!

”For days an' nights once, in a storm 't I shall never forgit, we pulled under the lee o' a wracked vessel, 'n' no other way could we 'a'

been saved.

”An' it was so, 't, in this sea o' life, all open ter the winds o'

sorrer an' temptation, Christ come down, an' He giv' up joy an' a safe harbor, 'n' all that, jest ter be made a wrack on, so 't we might git under His lee, an' foller safe.

”It 's the great Breakwater o' the seas; don't ye fear but it 's a safe one!

”Young man, I know 't ye think o' somethin' more'n this, an' vary diffur'nt from this, a-startin' out each one in his clipper-bark, gay an' hunky in every strand, 'ith a steady follerin' breeze, an'

everythin' set from skysail pole to the water's edge.

”All right! ye are the lad for me; ye can pull side an' feather stroke; ye can cl'ar a tops'l reef-tackle when the sail is full, ye are the lad for me. Steer bold; only steer true, by night an' day. I wish 't ye might no' meet wi' fogs an' icebergs an' collisions an' gales----

”An' yit, I wish it not. The sea an' the storm is jest to teach us t'

git under the lee o' the great wrack o' Love an' Pity, 't made hisself lost for us; ay, an' so to make a wrack o' our own happiness for the poor an' weak, 't's out a-tossin' shelterless, to lead 'em to the true Breakwater. That 's life, that 's the sea, that 's the lesson. Till we pa.s.s on, up the roads, into the harbor----”

The old mariner's voice failed him; he sat down.

”Vesty,” said Elder Skates, and cleared his throat huskily; ”Vesty, will you start 'The Tempests broke on Thee'?”

Vesty's voice:

”'O Christ, it broke on Thee!

Thy open bosom was my ward, It braved the storm for me.

Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred,-- O Christ, it broke on Thee!'”

Great preachers have I heard dry-eyed, and skilled plaintive music enough; but now I looked out through the broken Basin windows, on the clear Basin sky, through a mist.