But no vast shape will show a regnant hand,
Unless, perchance, wan Sorrow by him stand;
From Sorrow's pale, across the seas unsown,
_Many and mournful are the memories blown._

O thou that hast, from decades gone before,
Of bitter and of sweet the fullest store,
Immeasurable sea,--in gloom and glow
Our joy, our terror and our love,--we kneel
At thy dark altar with a vain appeal;
Within thy mighty bosom, far below,
Lie hid the mysteries of Him who planned
The circling spheres that wheel at His command;--
Ah, Sea of Life, to one sure port we go
_Across the tireless tides that ebb and flow!_