Was Thy Wrath against the Sea?

The sea laments with unappeasable
Hankering wail of loss,
Lifting its hands on high and passing by
Out of the lovely light:
No foambow any more may crest that swell
Of clamorous waves which toss;
Lifting its hands on high it passes by
From light into the night.
Peace, peace, thou sea! God’s wisdom worketh well,
Assigns it crown or cross:
Lift we all hands on high, and passing by
Attest: God doeth right.