THE SEA. 211
And writing, " Hitherto" upon the sand, Bade thy mad surge respect it ?
From whose loom
Comes forth thy drapery, that ne'er waxeth old ? 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, tho' 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 cold billow, if perchance my soul, That fleeting wanderer on these shores of time, May, by thy lore instructed, learn of God.
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