|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
THE MOON DROVE THROUGH THE SCUD ON HIGH.
The moon drove through the scud on high ;
'Twas lightó'twas shade, as on she flew; And, as she forward seemed to fly,
My thoughts were, wife, of home and you.
A moment, now, she gleamed down light;
Now, on the deck, but shadow threw; And, as she showed, now dark, now bright,
My heart took fears and hopes for you.
Unclouded when her sweet light gleamed, I saw my dear ones, blest and well;
Vanished her beams; the things I dreamed, May God forbid home-news to tell.