What ails thee, O thou Sea,
That thus with mad endeavour
Thou heavest thy waves on the lonely shore,
And beatest thy banks for ever?

Ah! so my weary heart
Throbs with a restless yearning,
For the golden light of the faded days,
And the joys that have no returning.

What means, O tossing Sea,
That wild and awful wailing,
Like the prayer for pity from some lost soul
Which is ever unavailing?

Oh, even so my heart
Doth wail, and pine, and languish,
For a love that can satisfy the soul,
And a peace that can still its anguish.

Wail wilder still, O Sea!
Roar louder yet, ye billows!
And rock the mariners to sleep
As they rest on their lonely pillows!

And heave on high thy waves
Till the deep shall seethe and shiver!
But a day will come when thy wail shall cease,
And thy moan shall be hushed for ever!

And thou, O restless heart,
Still throb with thy deep emotion;
And pine beneath thy weight of care,
And pant like the panting ocean;

And toss and tremble and thrill
Till thine inmost being quiver!
But a day will come when thy care shall cease,
And thou shalt be stilled for ever!