  MY heart is before thee, Queen, As a mariner at sea— It vows its sighs that swell to thee, Sighs as great as against waves may be. For thou art above the waves, On their summits thou dost float; Thy locks of gold along thy throat; Thou more gold than gold upon thy boat. Pomp of thy body, thy Child— On thy arm, small-crowned and sweet; Thou, large-crowned! Where billows meet, Why these crowns, like shocks of golden wheat? The Prince of Peace He is.... As a mariner at sea, When waves are high and thronging free, High my heart entreats thy Son and thee. |
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