The ocean looketh up to heaven,

As ’twere a living thing;

The homage of its waves is given,

In ceaseless worshipping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand

As bends the human knee;

A beautiful and tireless band,

The priesthood of the sea.

The mists are lifted from the rills,

Like the white wing of prayer;

They kneel above the ancient hills,

As doing homage there.

The forest-tops are lowly cast

O’er breezy hill and glen,

As if a prayerful spirit passed

On nature as on men.

The sky is as a temple’s arch:

The blue and wavy air

Is glorious with the spirit march

Of messengers at prayer.