The ocean looketh up to heaven,

As ’twere a living thing;

The homage of its waves is given

In ceaseless worshiping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand,

As bends the human knee;

A beautiful and tireless band—

The priesthood of the sea.

They pour the glittering treasures out

Which in the deep have birth;

And chant their awful hymns about

The watching hills of earth.

The green earth sends its incense up

From every mountain shrine—

From every flower and dewy cup

That greeteth the sun-shine.

The mists are lifted from the rills,

Like the white wing of prayer

They lean above the ancient hills,

As doing homage there.

The forest tops are lowly cast

O’er breezy hill and glen,

As in a prayerful spirit passed

On nature as on men.

The clouds weep o’er the fallen world,

E’en as repentant love;

Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurled,

They fade in light above.

The sky it is a temple’s arch—

The blue and wavy air

Is glorious with the spirit-march

Of messengers at prayer.

The gentle moon, the kindling sun,

The many stars are given,

As shrines to burn earth’s incense on—

The altar-fires of Heaven!