I HERE to the sweep of the shore The changeful waters come— Now ruthless in uproar, Now crooningly, now dumb. To-day on a dawn of spring They sang at their silver loom, To-morrow the trembling shore will ring With pitiless strokes of doom. What is this ebb and flow— This ceaseless swing of the sea, This sounding to and fro On earth's great organ-key? Ask of the ships that ride Or the passionate winds that sweep, But the laws of the rhythmic tide Are not for them to keep. Immutably bound, yet free, Constant as moon or sun, Moving to some divine decree, The world's great waters run. II And we that watch and wait Breathing with mortal breath, We are but ships upon that sea Whose tides are birth and death. Sailing out of the dark, O little ships, to the light, And never too small or frail a bark To sail to the Infinite! But what of the storms that hide In that rhythmic mystery? And what of the bitter, ultimate tide We neither hear nor see? @3Be still, O querulous soul! He hath charted every sea, And the Master of all the tides that roll Shall send to pilot thee.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINCOLN TRIUMPHANT by EDWIN MARKHAM AT SAGAMORE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SLANTS AT BUFFALO, NEW YORK by CARL SANDBURG THE VIKING GRAVE AT LADBY by KAREN SWENSON JIM, WHO RAN AWAY FROM HIS NURSE, AND WAS EATEN BY A LION by HILAIRE BELLOC |