Xviii

Like a little child, that kneeleth To tell God whate'er he feeleth, Bent the tall young warrior there, And the palm-trees whispered prayer.

She, outworn with woe and weeping, Shared that influence from above; And the fear of death went sleeping In the maiden faith and love.

Less the stormy water waileth, E'en the human tumult faileth; Stars their silent torches light, To conduct the car of night