~ Au Sable Lighthouse, Michigan
The Lighthouse
by Marge Tindal
High on a mountain overlooking the sea,
I strained with all my might,
To catch a glimpse of the ships approaching,
The beacon of light.
The searching beam gives direction
Of where the land might be.
It reminds me of the guard I keep
when you are away from me.
I stand like the mighty lighthouse,
The waves crashing at my feet...
My light of love cascading,
guiding you home to me.
Wherever you may wander,
Remember that whence you return...
To follow the beacon of my love
That through eternity will burn.
Bright, bright, bright glows the light
Guiding you home my way...
It will be as it was
Before you went away.
Whether by land or sea
Know just how much I care.
Look for the glow of the lighthouse
You will find me there.
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I love everything about lighthouses---
their daymark, their coastal locations---
the style of tower, the keepers dwelling---
the way they endure the powers of nature.
Most of all, I love their light, bright,
seen from far sight---
a sense of “safety” no matter how dark the night.
You, my sons, are strong like the lighthouse tower---
You endure all of life’s problems.
Your love is like the beacon---
“always” shinning through
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Seul Choix Lighthouse, Michigan
(Pronounced Si - Shwah)
The Lighthouse
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
and on its outer point, some miles away,
the lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.
Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
in the white tip and tremor of the face.
And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,
with strange, unearhly splendor in the glare!
No one alone: from each projecting cape
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge,
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.
Like the great giant Christopher it stands
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,
Wading far out among the rocks and sands,
The night o'er taken mariner to save.
And the great ships sail outward and return
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,
And ever joyful, as they see it burn
They wave their silent welcome and farewells.
They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze,
And eager faces, as the light unveils
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.
The mariner remembers when a child,
on his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink
And when returning from adventures wild,
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink.
Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same,
Year after year, through all the silent night
Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame,
Shines on that inextinguishable light!
It sees the ocean to its bosum clasp
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace:
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece.
The startled waves leap over it; the storm
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain,
And steadily against its solid form
press the great shoulders of the hurricane.
The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din
of wings and winds and solitary cries,
Blinded and maddened by the light within,
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.
A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock,
Still grasping in his hand the fire of love,
it does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock,
but hails the mariner with words of love.
"Sail on!" it says: "sail on, ye stately ships!
And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse.
Be yours to bring man neared unto man.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -
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Ocracoke Island Lighthouse, NC
One-eyed sentries standing tall
dare to challenge every squall,
to be a beacon in the night;
A guide, a friend, dependable light.
Raging Nature can never douse
The welcoming beam of a lighthouse.
A fortress planted at the shore
Undaunted security at any hour.
Never a ship will worry near
a rocky shoal with a lighthouse there.
To whom do we owe this nighttime blessing?
Those who've died on the rocks, I'm guessing.
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