In Port

Wave buffeted and sick with storm,
The ships came reeling in,
The harbour lights were kind and warm,
And yet, so hard to win.

Like wings, the tired sails fluttered down,
While night began to fall,
Then came, sea-scarred, toward the town,
The smallest ship of all.

At last in harbour, safe and still,
No more she need be brave,
No more she’d meet the winds’ rough will,
The wanton of each wave.

The harbour lights! but where the moon
Should murmur blessings bright,
Clouded instead the dread typhoon,
That thundered down the night.

What curse the luring harbour bore
Of false security;
The port held desolation more
Than boasted all the sea.

When morning came with leering lip,
What death lay on her breast,
And oh! the little weary ship
Was wrecked with all the rest.