Classic Poem

Praise is around!
The bounding waves swell on,
Giving their rushing voices to their God,
And ere, commingling with the deep, they've gone,
Throw incense-foam abroad,
With solemn sound.

Praise on the winds!
Borne on their countless tongues,
They tell the story of creative power,
While the wild music of their sacred songs,
In many a shrub and flower
A listener finds.

Praise from the flower!
Tho' few and scatter'd here,
Yet even here , among these sands they bloom;
Like pious thoughts, when hearts are bleak and drear,
To heaven they give their color and perfume,
Their innocent dower.

Praise from the bird!
The garden songster wakes
His long, rich notes of Sabbath minstrelsy —
His stealthy step the white crane lightly takes,
And the wild curlew floats on quietly,
With wing scarce stirr'd.

My prayer is this:
Though toss'd on time's dark sea,
That I may reach at length that blessed shore,
Where waveless, passionless, yet free,
The tumult of the world all o'er,
We rest in bliss.