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Poem by Edith Nesbit


Sea-Shells


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.



Edith Nesbit


Edith Nesbit's other poems:
  1. Saturday Song
  2. The Whirligig of Time
  3. For Dolly Who Does Not Learn Her Lessons
  4. The December Rose
  5. The Fire


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