The sea, unmated creature, tired and lone, Makes on its desolate sands eternal moan.

O majesty unspeakable and dread! Wert thou less mighty than Thou art, Thou wert, O Lord, too great for our belief, Too little for our heart.

Labour itself is but a sorrowful song, The protest of the weak against the strong.

Hark! Hark! my soul, angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore; How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of…