The sailor’s hymn hath risen to thee,
And bless’d thy power to guide, to save,
Madonna! watcher of the wave!
Oh! might a voice, a whisper low,
Forth from those lips of beauty flow!
Couldst thou but speak of all the tears,
The conflicts, and the pangs of years,
Which, at thy secret shrine reveal’d,
Have gush’d from human hearts unseal’d!
Surely to thee hath woman come,