THE tide has ebbed away: br No more wild dashings 'gainst the adamant rocks, br Nor swayings amidst sea-weed false that mocks br The hues of gardens gay: br No laugh of little wavelets at their play: br No lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brow-- br Both storm and calm alike are ended now. br br The rocks sit gray and lone: br The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry, br That not a tide might ever have swept by br Stirring it with rude moan: br Only some weedy fragments idly thrown br To rot beneath the sky, tell what has been: br But Desolation's self has grown serene. br br Afar the mountains rise, br And the broad estuary widens out, br All sunshine; wheeling round and round about br Seaward, a white bird flies. br A bird? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes br A spirit, o'er Eternity's dim sea br Calling--'Come thou where all we glad souls be. br O life, O silent shore, br Where we sit patient; O great sea beyond br To which we turn with solemn hope and fond, br But sorrowful no more: br A little while, and then we too shall soar br Like white-winged sea-birds into the Infinite Deep: br Till then, Thou, Father--wilt our spirits keep.