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87

THE RANSOM.

Their quest they cease not till the tide, repenting his retreat,
Turns suddenly and towards their wharves drives them with
    flying feet.
Then with glad hearts the glowing hoard they to the pastor
    bear,
That he in their increasing store their modest joy may
    share.

So months passed on, and all the gains thus gathered from
    the sea
Formed still a treasury lighter far than their necessity.
The autumn, too, came on apace, and they could meet no
    more
To worship, where the church once stood, upon the open
    shore.
Yet wintry tempests, gathering strength, might scatter on
    the strand
The golden peebbles so desired with a more lavish hand.
Such was the talk one cold gray morn, as they drew near
    the sea