The Quiet Heart.

There are those with the sea in their blood,
Whose hearts lift to its restless beat;
But the sea was never my home,
But the land that is still and sweet.
The hills, they are high and cool,
With the wisdom the long years bring;
But the sea has an urgent cry
That is hot with remembering.
The beat—beat—beat! of the waves
Is like drums from a hidden hill—
A fever of the bone and blood
Not even death can still.
But the pulse of the land is slow—
Is stable and soft and sweet.
The land is the Peace of God,
And a Footstool for His Feet.
Alone in the fields with my horse,
Is peace with the wind and the sun;
And peace will be mine at the Feet of God,
When the brief, sweet dream is done.

—E. Mary Gurney.

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