212
THE DEEP.
Who hath thy keys, thou deep? Who taketh note
Of all thy wealth? Who numbereth the host
That make their bed with thee? What eye doth scan
Thy secret annal, from creation lock'd
Fast in those dark, illimitable cells,
Which he who visited hath ne'er return'd
To commune with the living?
One reply!
Do all thine echoing depths and tossing waves
Make but one answer? of that One Dread Name
Which he who deepest graves within his heart
Is wisest, though the world may call him fool?
Therefore I come, a listener to thy voice,
And bow me at thy feet, and touch my lip
To thy cool billow, if perchance my soul,
That fleeting wanderer on these shores of time,
May, by thy voice instructed, learn of God.
