The Lighthouse

(Woodrow Wilson)

Aloft upon the frontier of the sky,
A beacon blazes o'er the fretful sea;
Ghost-like it flames as if Eternity
Had set the lighthouse of the world on high
To warn the life-ships sailing silent by.
The surge beneath, on crags of cruelty,
Its dead-march beats, and hell disports with glee,
While careless keepers let the great light die.

Earth-tabernacles crumble and decay,
But winds of God shall fan the flickering spark;
The torch shall gleam across the foam alway,
For truth, once seen, can never more be dark.
The morning star that dims when night is gone
Has told the day the meaning of the dawn.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.