The Storm

Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep,
Whilst we, betwixt them o’er the deep,
In shatter’d tempest-beaten bark,
With laboring ropes are onward driven,
The billows dashing o’er our dark
Upheaved deck—in tatters riven
Our sails—whose yawning rents between
The raging sea and sky are seen.
Loose from their hold our anchors burst,
And then the third, the fatal wave
Comes rolling onward like the first,
And doubles all our toil to save.