  “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy! Save him, save!”— “Father, receive my spirit from the wave.” Rolls the great Sea of the Chersonese Tossed and facing him and these.... Cold in waters, high in heap As a quarry should it sweep With a landslip down on men: And it roars as in its den Roars a monster apt for blood. He must journey on this flood To the harbour of his soul; He must seek his furthest goal, With an anchor round his neck, From yon tossing vessel’s deck Cast to drown, when out at sea Full three miles that ship may be. And his fellow-exiles cry, “Let him not, Lord Jesus, die!” On the clouds the vessel is a spot. “Lord Jesus, save him!... Is there not, O brothers, in the sea retreat— Caught back, rolling from our feet, Not in waves, as under tide, But withdrawn on every side? We can see the waves no more. Let us follow them athwart Sea-deeps with no waters fraught; Let us wipe our tears away, Let us take this holy way! Large the floor and larger still: Must the whole horizon fill With a land of weed and shell, Where no billows native dwell Any more—we know not why: Any more, since we made cry?” As the sunset clears the sky, Yet across its wondrous space There is one transcendent place Where the sun is laid to rest: So these mourners, strangely blessed— Over sand and coral clean And unbroken shells, serene, With the peace where sea hath been, Over panting sea-stars bright, Silver-raying fishes, mad For the livesome brine they had— Come upon a Temple-grot, Set before them in a spot Of the naked desert, left By the ocean’s woof and weft Of the tidal streams withdrawn. There upon the sand, forlorn In its beauty, far remote, Of the Holy Spirit’s dream.... And they cross a little stream, Thrilling with the far-off sea; And they follow what must be, As they tread within the shrine, Builded marble for a sign Angels had been set to build On a ground the ocean filled. In a tabernacle lies, Lone and grand to seeking eyes, Not the sunk sun, but a tomb, Whitest marble, and the room Of the holy Clement dead. There he lies, how comforted! Through the mighty water brought To a peace, a harbour wrought Of the holy Angels’ care. Close his anchor! He so still And sufficed—the waves that kill Driven away by angel-hands; While his people’s exile bands Kneel around him in the sea.... Come to port, his anchor by! Thus the sun each day must die: Thus sweet Clement but one day In the sea sank down, and lay As at sunset, full of peace. They bear him to the land: and the flood-tides increase. |
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