Thou bearest on thy breast;
On thee he spends a life that knows no leisure
A scanty wage to wrest.
Be kind, O sea, whose limits boundless are,
And rest, oh rest, upon thy sandy bar.

Ah, cease to murmur: stay thy waves from warring,
And bid thy steeds be still;
Why should'st thou rage, when not a breeze is stirring
The treetops on the hill?
To sheltered haven bring my husband's bark
Ere yet the shadows fall and night grows dark.

Full well may women weep, we wives and daughters
Whose men are on the deep;
But who can tell our anguish when thy waters
In stormy anger leap?
Be gentle to him, sea, and rage no more,
But rest, oh rest, upon thy sandy shore.

Thou heedest not, O sea without compassion,
But ravenest for thy prey;
I turn to One who can control thy passion,
And wildest waves allay;
And He will take my loved one 'neath His care,
And make thee rest upon thy sandy bar.



An Idyll.