Down by the shore at morning
Wearily moans the sea;
The brown wrack clings to the bare grey rocks,
And the wind sighs drearily.
The mist creeps over the waters
From windward on to the lee,
Wrapping the ships in its cold embrace
Sadly and silently.
Down by the shore at evening
The mists are rolling away
In long white wreaths, on the solemn hills
That shelter the lonely bay.
Bright with a rare effulgence,
The golden clouds are furled,
And the faint blue peaks o'er the distant sea
Seem the dream of another world.
Down by the sea of sorrow
The mists lay cold and grey,
And never a glimpse of the gracious sun
Broke through the gloom that day.
But the clouds were rolled together,
Just ere the daylight died,
And we saw the land of Beulah smile
In the light of eventide.