Sleep At Sea

Sound the deep waters: -         Who shall sound that deep? -     Too short the plummet,         And the watchmen sleep.     Some dream of effort         Up a toilsome steep;     Some dream of pasture grounds         For harmless sheep.     White shapes flit to and fro         From mast to mast;     They feel the distant tempest         That nears them fast:     Great rocks are straight ahead,         Great shoals not past;     They shout to one another         Upon the blast.     Oh, soft the streams drop music         Between the hills,     And musical the birds' nests         Beside those rills:     The nests are types of home         Love-hidden from ills,     The nests are types of spirits         Love-music fills.     So dream the sleepers,         Each man in his place;     The lightning shows the smile         Upon each face:     The ship is driving, driving,         It drives apace:     And sleepers smile, and spirits         Bewail their case.     The lightning glares and reddens         Across the skies;     It seems but sunset         To those sleeping eyes.     When did the sun go down         On such a wise?     From such a sunset         When shall day arise?     'Wake,' call the spirits:         But to heedless ears:     They have forgotten sorrows         And hopes and fears;     They have forgotten perils         And smiles and tears;     Their dream has held them long,         Long years and years.     'Wake,' call the spirits again:         But it would take     A louder summons         To bid them awake.     Some dream of pleasure         For another's sake;     Some dream, forgetful         Of a lifelong ache.     One by one slowly,         Ah, how sad and slow!     Wailing and praying         The spirits rise and go:     Clear stainless spirits         White as white as snow;     Pale spirits, wailing         For an overthrow.     One by one flitting,         Like a mournful bird     Whose song is tired at last         For no mate is heard.     The loving voice is silent,         The useless word;     One by one flitting         Sick with hope deferred.     Driving and driving,         The ship drives amain:     While swift from mast to mast         Shapes flit again,     Flit silent as the silence         Where men lie slain;     Their shadow cast upon the sails         Is like a stain.     No voice to call the sleepers,         No hand to raise:     They sleep to death in dreaming,         Of length of days.     Vanity of vanities,         The Preacher says:     Vanity is the end         Of all their ways.