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

When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a
swaddlingband for it,
And brake up read more

When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a
swaddlingband for it,
And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors,
And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here
shall thy proud waves be stayed?

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Deep calleth upon deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy
waves and thy billows are gone over read more

Deep calleth upon deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy
waves and thy billows are gone over me.

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.

The burden of the desert of the sea. As whirlwinds in the south
pass through; so it cometh from read more

The burden of the desert of the sea. As whirlwinds in the south
pass through; so it cometh from the desert, from a terrible land.

Alone I walked on the ocean strand,
A pearly shell was in my hand;
I stooped, and read more

Alone I walked on the ocean strand,
A pearly shell was in my hand;
I stooped, and wrote upon the sand
My name, the year, the day.
As onward from the sport I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast,
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more.

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