A Lonely Moment.

I sit alone in the gray,     The snow falls thick and fast,     And never a sound have I heard all day     But the wailing of the blast,     And the hiss and click of the snow, whirling to and fro.     There seems no living thing     Left in the world but I;     My thoughts fly forth on restless wing,     And drift back wearily,     Storm-beaten, buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead.     No one there is to care;     Not one to even know     Of the lonely day and the dull despair     As the hours ebb and flow,     Slow lingering, as fain to lengthen out my pain.     And I think of the monks of old,     Each in his separate cell,     Hearing no sound, except when tolled     The stated convent bell.     How could they live and bear that silence everywhere?     And I think of tumbling seas,     'Neath cruel, lonely skies;     And shipwrecked sailors over these     Stretching their hungry eyes,--     Eyes dimmed with wasting tears for weary years on years,--     Pacing the hopeless sand,     Wistful and wan and pale,     Each foam-flash like a beckoning hand,     Each wave a glancing sail,     And so for days and days, and still the sail delays.     I hide my eyes in vain,     In vain I try to smile;     That urging vision comes again,     The sailor on his isle,     With none to hear his cry, to help him live--or die!     And with the pang a thought     Breaks o'er me like the sun,     Of the great listening Love which caught     Those accents every one,     Nor lost one faintest word, but always, always heard.     The monk his vigil pale     Could lighten with a smile,     The sailor's courage need not fail     Upon his lonely isle;     For there, as here, by sea or land, the pitying Lord stood     close at hand.     O coward heart of mine!     When storms shall beat again,     Hold firmly to this thought divine,     As anchorage in pain:     That, lonely though thou seemest to be, the Lord is near,     remembering thee.