I stood on the shore of the beautiful sea,
As the billows were roaming wild and free;
Onward they came with unfailing force,
Then backward turned in their restless course;
Ever and ever sounded their roar,
Foaming and dashing against the shore;
Ever and ever they rose and fell,
With heaving and sighing and mighty swell;
And deep seemed calling aloud to deep,
Lest the murmuring waves should drop to sleep.
In summer and winter, by night and by day,
Thro' cloud and sunshine holding their way;
Oh! when shall the ocean’s troubled breast
Calmly and quietly sink into rest?
Oh! when shall the waves' wild murmuring cease,
And the mighty waters be hushed to peace?

It cannot be quiet — it cannot rest;
There must be heaving on ocean's breast;
The tide must ebb, and the tide must flow,
Whilst the changing seasons come and go.
Still from the depths of that hidden store
There are treasures tossed up along the shore;
Tossed by the billows—then seized again —
Carried away by the rushing main.
Oh, strangely glorious and beautiful sea!
Sounding forever mysteriously,
Why are thy billows still rolling on,
With their wild and sad and musical tone?
Why is there never repose for thee?
Why slumberest thou not, O mighty sea?

Then the ocean's voice I seemed to hear,
Mournfully, solemnly—sounding near,
Like a wail sent up from the caves below,
Fraught with dark memories of human woe,
Telling of loved ones buried there,
Of the dying shriek and the dying prayer;
Telling of hearts still watching in vain
For those who shall never come again;
Of the widow's groan, the orphan's cry,
And the mother's speechless agony.
Oh, no, the ocean can never rest
With such secrets hidden within its breast.
There is sorrow written upon the sea,
And dark and stormy its waves must be;
It cannot be quiet, it cannot sleep,
That dark, relentless, and stormy deep.

But a day will come, a blessed day,
When earthly sorrow shall pass away,
When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace,
And even the roar of the waves shall oease.
Then out from its deepest and darkest bed
Old Ocean shall render up her dead,
And, freed from the weight of human woes,
Shall quietly sink in her last repose.

No sorrow shall ever be written then
On the depths of the sea or the hearts of men,
But heaven and earth renewed shall shine,
Still clothed in glory and light divine.
Then where shall the billows of ocean be?
Gone! for in heaven shall be "no more sea."
'Tis a bright and beautiful thing of earth,
That cannot share in the soul’s "new birth;"
'Tis a life of murmur and tossing and spray A
nd at resting-time it must pass away.

But, oh! thou glorious and beautiful sea,
There is health and joy and blessing in thee:
Solemnly, sweetly, I hear thy voice,
Bidding me weep and yet rejoice —
Weep for the loved ones buried beneath,
Rejoice in Him who has conquered death;
Weep for the sorrowing and tempest-tossed,
Rejoice in Him who has saved the lost;
Weep for the sin, the sorrow, and strife
And rejoice in the hope of eternal life.

Melody to ancient air
Has touched my soul. O hand so fair
⁠That hymned it forth,
In the golden sunset there,
⁠Of noble worth.

Feeble, poor, and old am I.
What is this life? Alas, how nigh
⁠Seemed it to fate;
When the song I used to try
⁠Came whispering late.

Tears are gauge of purest mind,
Drop e'en a few the maimed and blind:
⁠I loved that song —
Mother sang it, and the wind
⁠Swept soft along.

As I think of saintly face,
The touch of tender loving grace,
⁠I silent turn
Where the sunbeams leapt — no trace
⁠To find no bourne.

So leave I the sunset song,
And hie me home to where I long
⁠To bow my head;
Blessèd the hand that struck among
⁠Chords long since dead,

Bringing back the golden time
Of love and hope in its familiar rhyme;
⁠The corn in ear —
Breath of the bee-swarmed murmuring lime,
⁠To cottage dear.