Their quest they cease not till the tide, repenting his retreat,
Turns suddenly and towards their wharves drives them with
Then with glad hearts the glowing hoard they to the pastor
That he in their increasing store their modest joy may
So months passed on, and all the gains thus gathered from
Formed still a treasury lighter far than their necessity.
The autumn, too, came on apace, and they could meet no
To worship, where the church once stood, upon the open
Yet wintry tempests, gathering strength, might scatter on
The golden peebbles so desired with a more lavish hand.
Such was the talk one cold gray morn, as they drew near