hymn to the sea.
35
The base, triumphant Despot of a day
Is weary Anarch of a thousand years.
And yet this many a spring the boughs are sheen
With the almost forgotten bloom! Call, Sea,
Unto all faithful souls, Doubt not,
Aspire to lead earth's struggling thought
Still up, bring what from full hearts gushes free,
He who doth blend and shape the whole finds nothing mean.
Is weary Anarch of a thousand years.
And yet this many a spring the boughs are sheen
With the almost forgotten bloom! Call, Sea,
Unto all faithful souls, Doubt not,
Aspire to lead earth's struggling thought
Still up, bring what from full hearts gushes free,
He who doth blend and shape the whole finds nothing mean.
When morning, loosing from its crimson drifts,
Some panting skylark overtakes, most tender
Of such weak rivalship, and prone to render
Homage unto great-heartedness, it lifts
The breaking strain, and all along its lines
Of thrilling light, its currents of pure air
And rosy mists, winds it at will,
Unites and separates, and still
Wreathes it and builds anew beyond despair,
Till light is song, song light thro' all heaven's steadfast
Some panting skylark overtakes, most tender
Of such weak rivalship, and prone to render
Homage unto great-heartedness, it lifts
The breaking strain, and all along its lines
Of thrilling light, its currents of pure air
And rosy mists, winds it at will,
Unites and separates, and still
Wreathes it and builds anew beyond despair,
Till light is song, song light thro' all heaven's steadfast
