Thus is it best that we should never know
What is to be, but walking in the path
Appointed, thank our God who made it so;
And daily forward press our way in faith
Unquestioningly, knowing well that He,
Who chose that path, is wiser far than we.
XLVI.
Upon the waters now the sun has poured
His morning light; each little ripple gleams
In joy because the day has been restored,
And dances lightly in its welcome beams.
And gladly, brightly on the wavelets go,
And musically murmur as they flow.
XLVII.
And as they flow they breathe upon the air
An odour strengthening, which had not been
Except the sea waves shone and glittered there.
No unbrined waters roll these hills between,
For, by their constant forth and backward motion,
They tell their kinship to the mighty ocean.
Roll, roll, great Pacific, roll!
Ten thousands of years with their joys and their fears,
Thy billows cannot control.
Still roll, Pacific, roll!
Toss, toss, great Pacific, toss!
For the hunter of seal, whose woe is thy weal,
And whose gain is thine only loss.
Still toss, Pacific, toss!
Foam, foam, great Pacific, foam!
On thy rock-bound coast the wild Indians boast
Thy mountains, not thee, their home.
Still foam, Pacific, foam!
Surge, surge, great Pacific, surge!
Though the mariners hear, with prophetical fear,
In thy surging their deathly dirge.
Still, surge, Pacific, surge!
Roar, roar, great Pacific, roar!
For the gold-hunter's breast is in wilder unrest
Than the billows that lash thy shore.
Still roar, Pacific, roar!