“This morning,” said a sober-looking bird, “a small girl just under my nest in the orchard, was saying something over and over to herself, and I listened; and these were the words that she said:
The ocean looketh up to heaven as ’twere a living thing,
The homage of its waves is given in ceaseless worshipping.
They kneel upon the sloping sand, as bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band, the priesthood of the sea,
They pour the glittering treasures out which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about the watching-hills of earth.
“If the ocean is so good and grand as that he ought to do something at our Chautauqua. Couldn’t he? God must love him very much, he worships him so much.”