WE stand upon the barren shore,
And look far out to sea,
The crooning waves their burden pour
On you and me.
Our longing eyes, full of our mind,
On far horizons lie—
There, where our joy we hope to find
Before we die.
How fair the tempting journey seems—
Smooth lake of mystery—
How frail the craft, our forethought deems,
For such a sea!
For you and me, my lovely one,
And all our mighty hopes;
One step, dear love, and we have done,
And—cut the ropes?
Lashed to the past we stand, and fear
To leave our ties and pain;
Though (speaks the soul, if we would hear)
Fear blurs the vision of our dream,
Fear fills our hearts with dread,
Soon we shall find upon life’s stream
Our souls are dead.
We stand upon the shore and mourn;
We grieve, despairingly,
To leave the fetters we have borne—
So patiently.
Or, do we grieve that we are weak,
Lack courage to be free,
And spurn the liberty we seek
For slavery?
Doubts lie—like pebbles on this strand—
In our sad souls, my mate.
Before us lies the promised land,
Behind us—fate.
Then, let us here together bide,
With faces toward the sea,
And hope that some fair morning’s tide
Take you and me.