But ere we reach the shore the breeze is gone

But ere we reach the shore the breeze is gone
That had so lately sped us swiftly on.
In vain our little bark her path would try
Across the ocean's deep tranquillity,
Her idle sails hang useless out to woo
Some young breeze wand'ring o'er the waters blue.
Far o'er her prow our shelt'ring harbour lies,
Oft we anticipate with longing eyes
Our entrance there, but it is all in vain,
And we had slept upon the slumb'ring main,
Had not the might of the laborious oar
Slowly but surely swept us into shore.

O! when becalm'd upon life's changeful tide
And our poor barks on dangerous depths would rest,
Could we but turn, with sweet experience tried,
And use the oar of faith, — all would be blest.
It might be labour, but how well repaid!
We might be distant, but would soon be near,
It might be hope a little while delay'd,
To make fruition only doubly dear.