THEY spy it from afar,
The beacon’ s fiery star,
And storm-tossed birds, by fierce winds buffeted,
Rally with half-spent force,
And shape their struggling course
To where it rears its blazing, beckoning head.
Faintly the tired wings beat
That rhythmical repeat
Which was such joy in summer and in sun;
Glazed are the keen, bright eyes,
And heave with panting sighs
The soft and plumèd bosoms every one.
O’ er the white, weltering waves,
Which yawn like empty graves,
Borne on the urgings of the wind, they fly;
They reach the luring glow,
They launch and plunge, and lo!
Are dashed upon the glass, and fall and die.
So through the storm and night,
Outwearied with long flight,
Our souls come crowding o’ er the angry sea.
In North, in East, in West,
There is no place of rest,
Except, O kindly Light, except with thee.
No cold, unyielding glass
Bars and forbids to pass;
Thy dear light scorcheth not, nor burns in vain;
The soul that finds and knows
Such safe and sure repose
Need nevermore go out or roam again.
Ah, steadfast citadel!
Ah, lamp that burns so well
Upon the Rock of Ages, founded true!
Above the angry sea
We urge our flight to thee.
Shine, kindly Light, and guide us safely through!