THERE comes no sound unto thine ear—no word
To prove to thy sad heart that God hath heard
Thy plaintive cry? Go, shout across the sea.
Wave speaks to wave; but nothing answers thee,
Because no barriers are in the track,
To stay thy voice and send an echo back.
The tossing waves which break in sullen roar,
And fling fair foam-clouds on the sunny shore,
Shifting and drifting, mingle with the tide
Which flows from countless streams on every side.
The unseen air, which all around thee thrills,
The crevices of earth's far regions fills.
Nearer, more real than either sea or air,
Foldeth around His child the Father's care.
Think not that He forgets thee in His might;
The very silence proves Him infinite.
It is not that He scorns; but that between
Thee and thy source no barriers intervene.
Not like a distant sun in skies above,
But with a present flame, the fire of Love
Burneth from human hearts the dross and clay
Which hides His image from our sight away.
Oh mortal, fearing danger, dreading ill,
God's world holds no place which He doth not fill!
