AT CALL OF MATE 



Out and flying out to sea, 

 Even now thy wings aweary, 



Turn thee, lest the waters be 

 Dreary still and dreary. 



"Nay, my wings, my wings are strong, 

 Rest shall come at evensong." 



Be thy quest whate'er it may, 

 Wind and wave thy sure undoing. 



These shall steal thy strength away, 

 For the storm's a-brewing. 



"Nay, my heart, my heart is warm, 

 I shall rise above the storm." 



Out and out and out to sea. 

 What this rock unkind and lonely? 



Here nor home nor help for thee. 

 Barren beaches only. 



"Nay, thine eyes, thine eyes are blind. 

 For the riven rock is kind." 



Comes a sea-call, hark, oh hark! 



What is this to thee-ward hieing? 

 As the twilight fades to dark, 



*Tis thy mate a-flying. 



"Yea, my love, my love hath come. 

 This, my heart, hath found its home." 



Surely on the shore afar 



Thou could'st hear no love a-calling. 

 Yet thy tired wings resting are. 



As the night is falling. 



"Nay, until thyself hast heard. 

 Thou wilt doubt the Master Word." 



— George H. Maitland. 



96 



