The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land,
Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land,
Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea;
Even read more

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold
me.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man read more

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
Stops with the shore.

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
read more

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;
Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,
Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
read more

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers.
. . . .
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

The image of Eternity--the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the read more

The image of Eternity--the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing
read more

What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing
I hear but their low, lone song?

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a
pot of ointment.

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a
pot of ointment.