OUT of the bosom of the sea,
From coasts where dim, rich treasures be,
By vast and urging forces blent,
Untired, untiring, and unspent,
The glad waves speed them one by one;
And, goal attained and errand done,
They lap the sands and softly lave,—
Wave after wave, wave after wave.
As stirred by longing for repose
Higher and higher each wave goes,
Striving to clasp with foam-white hands
The yielding and eluding sands;
And still the sea, relentless, grim,
Calls his wild truants back to him,—
Recalls the liberty he gave
Wave after wave, wave after wave.
All sad at heart and desolate
They heed the call, they bow to fate;
And outward swept, a baffled train,
Each feels his effort was in vain.
But fed by impulse lent by each
The gradual tide upon the beach
Rises to full, and thunders brave,
Wave after wave, wave after wave.
Ah, tired, discouraged heart and head,
Look up, and be thou comforted!
Thy puny effort may seem vain,
Wasted thy toil and naught thy pain,
Thy brief sun quench itself in shade,
Thy worthiest strength be weakness made,
Caught up in one great whelming grave,
Wave after wave, wave after wave.
Yet still, though baffled and denied,
Thy spended strength has swelled the tide.
A feather’s weight where oceans roll—
One atom in a mighty whole—
God’s hand uncounted agencies
Marshals and notes and counts as his:
His sands to bind, his threads to save,
His tides to build, wave after wave.