Part 23 (1/2)

Oh, Heaven, for a breeze to blow!”

But never a shower from the cloud would burst, And never a breeze would come: O G.o.d, to think that man can thirst And starve in sight of home!

But out to sea with the drifting tide The vessel drifted away-- Till the far-off sh.o.r.e, like the dim cloud, died; And the wild crew ceased to pray!

Like fiends they glared, with their eyes aglow; Like beasts with hunger wild: But a mother prayed, in the cabin below, By the bed of her little child.

It slept, and lo! in its sleep it smiled,-- A babe of summers three: ”O Father, save my little child, Whatever comes to me!”

Calm gleamed the sea, calm gleamed the sky, No cloud--no sail in view; And they cast them lots, for who should die To feed the starving crew!

Like beasts they glared, with hunger wild, And their red-glazed eyes aglow, And the death-lot fell on the little child That slept in the cabin below!

And the mother shrieked in wild despair: ”O G.o.d, my child--my son.

They will take his life, it is hard to bear; Yet, Father, Thy will be done.”

And she waked the child from its happy sleep, And she kneeled by the cradle bed; ”We thirst, my child, on the lonely deep; We are dying, my child, for bread.

”On the lone, lone sea no sail--no breeze; Not a drop of rain in the sky; We thirst--we starve--on the lonely seas; And thou, my child, must die!”

She wept: what tears her wild soul shed Not I, but Heaven knows best.

And the child rose up from its cradle bed, And crossed its hands on its breast:

”Father,” he lisped, ”so good, so kind, Have pity on mother's pain: For mother's sake, a little wind; Father, a little rain!”

And she heard them shout for the child from the deck, And she knelt on the cabin stairs: ”The child!” they cry, ”the child--stand back-- And a curse on your idiot prayers!”

And the mother rose in her wild despair, And she bared her throat to the knife: ”Strike--strike me--me; but spare, oh, spare My child, my dear son's life!”

O G.o.d, it was a ghastly sight,-- Red eyes, like flaming brands, And a hundred belt-knives flas.h.i.+ng bright In the clutch of skeleton hands!

”Me--me--strike--strike, ye fiends of death!”

But soft--through the ghastly air Whose falling tear was that? whose breath Waves through the mother's hair?

A flutter of sail--a ripple of seas-- A speck on the cabin pane; O G.o.d; it's a breeze--a breeze-- And a drop of blessed rain!

And the mother rushed to the cabin below, And she wept on the babe's bright hair.

”The sweet rain falls the sweet winds blow; Father has heard thy prayer!”

Bu the child had fallen asleep again, And lo! in its sleep it smiled.

”Thank G.o.d,” she cried, ”for His wind and His rain!

Thank G.o.d, for my little child!”