I SEE the great blue ocean kiss the sky
Far to the South, I hear the sea-gulls wail
Among the crags, while underneath the sail
Goes swiftly by.
The sun looks down upon the twinkling sea;
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I hear the waters breaking far below;
And all is joyous, save the cloud of woe
That hangs o'er me.
The loving sky can every kiss the sea,
The ripple and the zephyr never part;
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Then why—oh, why—should thy sweet loving heart
Be torn from me?

THE confines of our being are not these
White limbs of sense. Our true selves broader are
And higher than the path of furthest star.
Beyond the reach of sense, each hears and sees
And feels. The root alone of giant trees
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Touches the earth; their branches pierce to heaven.
"To-day," "Here," "There," are to the body given;
Our spirits watch among the eternities.
Dearest, our beings can mingle, and our lips
Kiss off the dark world-sadness from the soul;
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Our hands can clasp, our eyes return love's gaze,
Tho' waste lands moan between, where crimson dips
The westering sun, and tho' wide oceans roll;
Tho' being so far, we breathe in different days.

HAST thou not seen the tints unfold,
From earth, sky, sea, and setting sun,
When all the glare of day was done,
And melt in one long stream of gold?

So down the dim-lit glades of time,
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Age after age, things divers blend,
Each working for the same great end,
And in its working each sublime.
Was it in vain that Buddha taught,
Or that Mohammed lived and died?
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Have they not, working side by side
In differing climes, God's purpose wrought?
O Christian sage, who lov'st thy creeds!
Think not the ropes that bind thee fast,
Like storm-tossed sailor, to the mast,
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Can answer yet each brother's needs.
And rail not thou at those half-known,
Who, groping thro' a darker night,
Have found perhaps a dimmer light
Than that thou sternly call'st thine own.
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Wouldst thou have spent, like them, thy youth,
Thy manhood, and thy weak old age,
In one long search thro' nature's page,
An unassisted search, for truth?
Oh, dream not the Almighty's powers
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Must ever work in one known way;
Nor think those planets have no day
Whose suns are other suns than ours.

THEY were islanders, our fathers were,
And they watched the encircling seas,
And their hearts drank in the ceaseless stir,
And the freedom of the breeze;
Till they chafed at their narrow bounds
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And longed for the sweep of the main,
And they fretted and fumed like hounds
Held in within sight of the plain,
And the play
And the prey.
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So they built them ships of wood, and sailed
To many an unknown coast;
They braved the storm and battles hailed,
And danger they loved most;
Till the tiny ships of wood
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Grew powerful on the globe
And the new-found lands for good
They wrapped in a wondrous robe
Of bold design,
Our brave ensign.
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And islanders yet in a way are we,
Our knowledge is still confined,
And we hear the roar of encircling sea,
To be crossed in the ship of the mind;
And we dream of lands afar,
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Unknown, unconquered yet,
And we chafe at the bounds there are,
And our spirits fume and fret
For the prize
Of the wise.
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But we'll never do aught, I know, unless
We are brave as our sires of old,
And face like them the bitterness
Of the battle and storm and cold;
Unless we boldly stand,
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When men would hold us back,
With the helm-board in our hand,
And our eyes to the shining track
Of what may be
Beyond the sea.
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There are rocks out there in that wide, wide sea,
'Neath many a darkling stream,
And souls that once sailed out bold and free
Have been carried away in a dream;
For they never came back again—
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On the deep the ships were lost;
But in spite of the danger and pain,
The ocean has still to be crossed,
And only they do
Who are brave and true.