The waves and the rocks in fierce combat meet ever,
(So sang a pink sea-shell to me).
And which shall be victor, they tell us, oh never,—
Bold cliff, or tempestuous sea.
Roll on in thy fury, thou foam-crested ocean!
Confront it, ye crags gray and old!
Fit emblems, ye are, of the strife and commotion,
Man's history always has told.
For which is the greater: mad passion that lashes
Itself into follies and woes:
Or grim fate, that watches the wreck while it dashes,
And silently mocks its death-throes?
Look away! List no longer this turmoil and dim,
(Again sang my sea-shell to me);
See the realms where the passions can enter not in:
Hear Christ say, "There is no more sea."
