Classic Poem

It was a delightful afternoon in midsummer, when I passed through New
York, that great thoroughfare of human life, to pursue my passage
towards my own New England home, with a heart filled with those
inexpressible emotions that crowd upon us, when, after a long absence
we anticipate a return to the bosom of a loved family.

Nature seemed tuned to sweet harmonies, and echoing the happiness that
filled the heart, produced no discordant note. Gentle breezes fanned
the cheek, and bore sweet perfume from the waving branches of the
trees as they gently swung before it, and their trembling leaves
fluttered before the passing breath of the summer wind; for summer was
brightly clad in all her robes of glory.

Birds carolled in wild melody their hymns of praise, and lifted their
glad voices to Him "who tipped their glittering wings with gold, and
tuned their voice to praise." Flowers were blooming in all their rich
varieties, and the splendid boquet that had been presented me from the
lady with whom I had been boarding several weeks, bespoke the handy
work of its Creator, and involuntarily raised the thoughts to that
land, where the flowers fade not, where change and decay come not.

Our journey led us by the quiet Cemetery of Greenwood, that vast
receptacle of the city dead. As we mused upon its peaceful rest, its
quiet shades, the transparency of the waters, that sleep in the bosom
of the sylvan lake, and then glanced upon the great thoroughfare,
teeming with life in all its varied and changeful positions, and
reflected that every individual in that moving mass possessed an
immortal mind, and was pressing their way to these grassy avenues,
passing on, step by step, toward the silent grave, the thought was
overwhelming, and the question came up, "Lord, what is man that thou
art mindful of him, or the Son of man that thou regardest him?"

As we crossed Fulton ferry at Brooklyn, the waters spoke in low, dirge
like voices of the same Almighty hand, and their waves were tossed
into gentle motion by the passing breeze, and seemed to reflect
myriads of diamonds upon its sparkling bosom, as it lay spread out
before the eye of the beholder.

The bustling throng of the city were moving down by the Battery toward
the steamboat wharf. The silver fountain sent forth its sparkling
waters, and the white swan curved its graceful neck in its mimic
lake, and the walks in the Battery were neat and inviting; but these
attracted not the attention of the passing throng. There was a more
intense object of curiosity.

The beautiful Atlantic lay at the wharf, lifting high her huge steam
pipes, emitting her blinding steam, and impatient to try her strength
upon the bosom of the deep. Her deck was thronged with human beings,
filled with impatient curiosity to see the gallant boat launch forth,
and pursue her way over the waste of waters.

Little thought that gaping multitude of the rich freight that was on
board that floating bark, that was now to try its giant strength upon
the billowy waves, the ocean of human mind broader, deeper than the
watery waste of the wide Atlantic. O, no, they thought not of those
priceless treasures, but it was the boat and her noble bearings that
attracted all eyes and was the absorbing theme of conversation.

Near by lay the proud Oregon, apparently boasting that she had tried
her strength, and was now willing to contest the point with the
stranger boat, and be her pilot down the Sound. Her decks, too, were
crowded with passengers anxious for the approaching race, for which
every preparation was making.

The sun was sinking towards the west, and shed his subduing beams over
the face of nature. No cloud hung its fleecy curtains over the canopy
of heaven, but the arch of cerulean blue hung in deep solemn grandeur
over the gathered crowd, over the boats at their moorings, and over
the rippling waves that mirrored back its placid smile from their own
tranquil bosom.

The hour came, the cheerful bells pealed their cordial invitation for
all to come on board, and so they hastened on; the second bell rang
its departure to the multitude on the shore, and soon the sound of the
fierce steam whistle, the noise of the machinery, and the splash of
the waters, told that the boats were moving like a thing of life
over the bounding billows. The officers of the boat and many of the
passengers were hurrying round, with busy feet, and using necessary
efforts to propel their speed. As a bird cuts the air or an arrow
wings its feathery course, so sped the boats upon their onward way.

The crowd on the shore watched them till they became small black
specks in the distance, and then the tumultuous tide of human life
turned towards the city's mart, and mingled again in its busy
fluctuations and its change.

There was a delightful view as the boat passed the beautiful villages
and elegant mansions of the wealthy citizens upon the surrounding
shore, reflecting the mild radiance of the setting sun.

When the shadows of twilight deepened, and the sable curtains of night
hid more distant objects from view, we could see in the dim distance
upon the waste of waters, the heated steam pipes of the swift
Atlantic, shedding a lurid glare upon the surrounding darkness.

By some failure in the fire works of the Oregon, one of the boilers
refused to do its office, and it was a fearful sight to some on board
to witness the high pressure principle that was applied to the other
to raise the steam. The blue sky was above us and the blue waters
beneath, and midnight shed her mysterious shapes and phantom shadows
around us, and awoke memories of steamboat disasters and perishing
crews sinking into a watery grave.

The ill-fated Lexington that was burned upon this very track, came up,
haunting the imagination with wild, fantastic dreams.

But turning from a land of fancies and of shadows, we raised a
trusting eye to the glittering host of silent stars that glistened in
all their matchless beauty in heaven's blue vault above, then listened
to the dashing of the briny wave, and felt that God was there, that
His eye slumbereth not, and His hand holds not only individual life,
but the destinies of nations, and at this solemn midnight hour, when
there was no object of His creative power in sight save the spangled
arch above and the foaming waters beneath, it was sweet to look up
to Him in confidence and trust, feeling that His Almighty arm is
omnipotent to save.

About midnight the ardor of the race abated. The Atlantic veered off
in a different direction toward her destined port, and the Oregon
pursued her accustomed way to her usual landing in Stonington.

Both boats reached their places of destination in safety, and thus
passed the first night of the gallant boat upon the ocean wave.

* * * * *

It was a cold day when sober autumn had almost accomplished her
appointed task, and swept cleanly away the beautiful shrubs and
flowers, and rolled the withered leaves before his chilling breath to
prepare for the entrance of cold, freezing winter, that already began
to send his icy messengers before him, touching the streams with their
freezing breath, and scattering snow flakes upon the barren earth.

It was on such a day when autumn came forth dressed in the icy garb of
winter, that the Atlantic again prepared to loose from her accustomed
moorings and ply her destined way to the busy city. Day after day she
had performed her journey, and was winning public confidence in her
safety and expedition.

Notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, many sought a passage,
desirous of reaching the distant city to spend the coming thanksgiving
with absent friends. The wind sighed in low, fitful murmurs as it
bore the fleecy snow flakes upon its airy pinions, and flung them
unceremoniously into the face of the passing traveler, thus warning
him of a fiercely coming storm.

The officers hesitated, as the ominous sea swell came surging on, and
the dashing waves moaning upon the winding shore, seemed shrieking a
sad requiem over the departed.

But finally the urgency of the passengers was so great, that they
concluded to put forth upon the waste of waters and brave the fury of
the midnight storm.

The bell gave its usual signal, and as its stifled sounds were borne
upon the ear by the howling winds, they sounded like a death knell.

There were hurrying vehicles, and the busy tread of active feet, and
the motley group were all on board, and many sorrowing friends stood
upon the shore, breathing a tearful farewell, to the dear ones who
were going from them.

The man of God was there; he had committed his interests to the "God
of the winds and the waves," and his heart was at peace.

The gay and thoughtless were there, who heeded not that "human life is
a vapor, that passeth soon away."

The second bell rang, and the sound fell with that leaden weight upon
many hearts, that so often comes upon us, when we are called to part
from some dearly loved objects, and we feel that it may be an eternal
separation.

The boat was soon gliding over the foaming ocean, and the sorrowing
friends returned to their homes, for the driving snow and sleet would
not permit them to linger long, to watch its progress.

The last fond look was given, white handkerchiefs fluttered a moment
in the sweeping blast, and the last farewell had passed between many
fond, loving hearts.

The boat pursued her dangerous way, amid "the windy storm and
tempest," and hope animated their bosoms, and some felt sure they
should arrive in safety.

The storm and darkness increased, the wind blew with greater violence,
and the tumultous sea hove up a hollow, bellowing sound, and seemed
threatening swift destruction.

About midnight the boat became unmanageable, and it became evident to
all on board, that many, if not all, must perish.

O, who may paint the agony of that fearful night? when death was
heralding his approach, in the loud surging of the ruthless blast, and
the deep toned thunder of the many voiced waters, as they dashed their
giant waves against the ill-fated bark, that groaned and trembled
beneath their mighty pressure.

Mingling with the tumultous groans of troubled nature, arose a fearful
cry, from lips white with fear.

The solemn voice of prayer went up, and there were none to scoff, when
the aged man bent his knee, and lifted his heart to God in prayer,
beseeching him, for Jesus Christ's sake, to have mercy upon their
souls. Many prayed in that hour of trial that never prayed before.
It was an hour that closed the scorner's lip, and made the most
profligate feel he was in the presence of a prayer-hearing God.

The bell, as if by some mysterious agency, commenced tolling, and its
sad knell sounded through that long night, over the bosom of the lone
sea. It was the same bell that rang so loud and clear on the day of
the boat's first departure from New York; but now how different are
the tones as they mingle with ocean's wail, and the fearful shriek of
the howling blast.

It was like the changes that come over us so often, as we toss upon
the tide of life, and buffet its adverse storms.

Many, ere morning dawned, found a watery grave.

It is not my intention to particularize, but draw the contrast of the
first and last night the beautiful boat tossed upon the mighty deep.

Perchance the same eyes that witnessed her departure from the shore,
anxiously watched her return that morning, and the anticipated
greeting of many a dear friend burned bright in many a heart, but was
soon--very soon--to be forever extinguished, as the loved, expected
form was even then buried beneath the ocean wave. Many a mother had
prepared the sumptuous thanksgiving breakfast, for a long-absent
expected son, who, perchance, was offering up his thanksgiving anthem
before the throne of God.

Hoary age and helpless infancy fell alike, before the destroying
angel, and there were vacancies in almost all the relations of life.

How often it is thus with those who sail in life's frail bark, out
upon the ocean of time. The morning may be calm and serene, and the
golden sun shed his glad beams upon our joyous pathway, or the pale
moon may walk forth in her beauty, accompanied by all the hosts of
twinkling stars, to gladden the night, while gentle winds sigh around
our dwellings, and we may pass on in the sunshine and the calm. But
clouds will arise, tempests will come, for the waves and billows of
human passions will surge over us, and many a frail bark is shattered
and stranded beneath their giant strength.

Weary pilgrim in life's rugged journey, there is a haven of peace,
where thy worn spirit may find rest. There is a chart to guide thee
over the troubled sea, and a pilot stands ready to steer thy little
bark aright.

His beams can ever shed a cheering ray upon thy toilsome way; and, oh,
may you see light in his light.

The broad ocean of eternity lays before us; into that must our little
shallop pass, and meet its final award. This, this is all that is
worth living for--happy entrance into the presence of God, that

"We may bathe our weary souls,
In seas of heavenly rest."