The Ocean

He that in venturous barks hath been
A wanderer on the deep,
Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.

For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.

Go! ask him of the whirlpool’s roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rush’d along the shore
An army’s chariot-wheels;

Of icebergs, floating o’er the main,
Or fix’d upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,
Mid the bright realms of frost;

Of coral rocks from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,
And, fraught with peril, daily grow,
Form’d by an insect’s power;

Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o’er the tides afar,
And make the expanse of ocean bright,
As heaven with many a star.

O God! thy name they well may praise
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways
Where rocks and billows frown!

If glorious be that awful deep
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bid’st it keep
Within its bounds confined!

Let heaven and earth in praise unite!
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can rouse the tempest’s might,
Or still the raging sea!