Classic Poem

O THOU that art so nearly infinite!
Lashing thy shores that drip with tangled weed!
Listening to thy deep voice, another speaks,
And tells me of the Infinite indeed.

Thy hollow caves are voiceful with His name,
Whose love is deeper than thy deepest place,
Whose inspirations are more strong and free
Than the great storms that oversweep thy face.

Oh, never time was yet, since first He made
The purple pillars of thy farthest bound,
That thou didst cease from murmuring to the shore,
And wooing it with sweet and holy sound.

And He that is the shoreless Infinite,
And I that am an island on His breast,
Live in such wise that evermore he woos
My soul and fills it with his great unrest.

And as I hear thy voice, may He my prayer,
That I may listen while His music beats,
And, like the sea-shell, murmur back again
That which once heard it evermore repeats.

So that my life may rounded be, and smooth,
As are these pebbles on thy shining strand;
So that my soul, as do thy countless waves,
May haste to do whate'er He may command.