For the tide runs in and the tide runs out,
And the women they talk and wait,
For hope has a soul that is built of doubt,
And our ships are ofttimes late.
And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
And the drift goes floating past;
A message it bears to the waiting town
In form of a broken mast.
Look! no seaweed yellows its shattered ends!
No shell-fish whiten its girth!
'Tis a message, they cry, old Ocean sends
To those they have left on earth!
And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
And the sea reclaims its toll;
But the hopes that live in that stricken town

Are those hopes that have no soul.