Читать книгу Many Voices - Эдит Несбит - Страница 14

I gathered shells upon the sand,

   Each shell a little perfect thing,

So frail, yet potent to withstand

   The mountain-waves’ wild buffeting.

Through storms no ship could dare to brave

The little shells float lightly, save

All that they might have lost of fine

Shape and soft colour crystalline.

Yet I amid the world’s wild surge

   Doubt if my soul can face the strife,

The waves of circumstance that urge

   That slight ship on the rocks of life.

O soul, be brave, for He who saves

The frail shell in the giant waves,

Will bring thy puny bark to land

Safe in the hollow of His hand.