WHERE the solemn waves the whole day long

Seem saying, "Never! Never!" 

As they creep to the feet of the hollow cliffs, 

Fall back, roll in forever, 

There stands a light-house, white and tall, 

That, like the house in the parable, 

Stands "on a rock" and braves the shock 

When tempests beat and torrents fall. 

Ghost-like at early dawn it looms 

Above the gray, cold ocean, 

And dull and chill stands gloomy still 

When wakes all else to motion; 

But when the evening shadows sink, 

And all the lonesome stony coast 

Is lost to sight, while through the night 

Drive in the storm clouds black as ink, 

'T is then that from that silent pile 

Darts far a ruddy dawning, 

Lighting the gloom, where the breakers boom, 

In priceless, ceaseless warning!

 Our Little Ones.