File:The book of gold, and other poems (1878) (14780684281).jpg

Identifier: bookofgoldotherp00trow (find matches)
Title: The book of gold, and other poems
Year: 1878 (1870s)
Authors: Trowbridge, J. T. (John Townsend), 1827-1916 Charles E. Feinberg Collection of Walt Whitman (Library of Congress) DLC
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Publisher: New York : Harper & Bros.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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gilded swells,The sun is setting over York and Wells. Job, are we lost ? said Jane. Cling for your life !He cried. Ill save you. Round the sunken deck He swam, and cut the halyards with his knife,And, working in the water to his neck, Lashed spar to spar ; then caught his sinking wifeJust as a great wave swept her from the wreck, And drew her forth, half drowned, with streaming hair, Upon his little raft, and lashed her there— On the drenched canvas stretched, a dripping heap. And still the sails descried were few and far.And so the day went down upon the deep, And the moon shimmered, and the light-house starPencilled its ruddy beam across the sweep Of wandering waters ; while, with breast to spar,Shaping his course to reach the nearest shore,Job swam, and pushed his laden raft before. 4 50 TIIE WRECK OF THE FISHING-BO AT. Oh, Job, said Jane, I am so cold ! I acheIn every bone. Dear Job, if I should die, Be gentle with the children for my sake.Oh, now I think, I wish to live, that I
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AND SO THE DAY WENT DOWN UPON THE DEEP. May do my duty better. If you take Another wife, I hope that she will tryTo love our dear ones, and be kind to you,Forgive poor Ben for what he failed to do. THE WRECK OF THE FISHING-BO AT. 51 Dont talk of dying and of other wives Quite yet, cries Job ; Ill get you safe to land. But, terribly and strongly as he strives, Not all the might of manhood can withstand The wrenching seas and sharp cross-wind that drivesThe raft away towards some more distant strand. Still, for a while he bravely struggles, loath To quit the raft, which will not bear them both. Off the dim cape of moonlit Arundel* Slowly they drift, scarce fifty rods away,Soon to be swept by wind and drenching swell Helplessly on, across an open bay,As Job, in fierce despair, foresees too well. Oh, Jane, he says, there is no other way,But I must leave you. I will swim ashoreFor help—God help us ! He could say no more. I thought of that. If you are sure to reachThe rock and save yourse

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