Classic Poem

The dove that found no rest
To which her foot might cling,
Turned to the ark her drooping breast,
Turned back her weary wing:
Still the dark waters covered o'er
All vestige of her promised home;
Yet from the crested waves she bore
An emblem of the rest to come.

And thus my weary soul,
Upon the world's wide sea,
Tossed as the stormy waters roll,
Turns back, dear love, to thee:
Still thou art far, oh, far away,
And fainting hope grows like despair;
Yet through the gloomy night one ray
Of starry promise glitters there.