In the fathomless depths of the mighty deep
What wonders live, what mysteries sleep!
What mind can name the sightless things
That live in the ocean's hidden springs,
Where treasures heaped on treasures lie,
Forever secure from the human eye;
Where creatures sport, that God alone
Can know their joy or hear their moan?
Who knows but the bride of the Dublin Bay
May walk in the ocean's depths today,
Arm in arm with her own dear Roy
In the conscious flush of honeymoon joy?
Who knows but the hearts that sadly yearned
For the gallant ship that never returned,
Have met, in the ocean's unknown bed,
The loved, tho' lost, we all thought dead?
Science has proved the human frame
Is water and salt by another name!
Hydrography yet may teach mankind
The open door of heaven to find.
"Davie Jones' locker" may prove to be
Instinct with life, by death set free!
Knew we the tongue of the deep sea shell
What wondrous news its notes might tell!
The myriad stars in yonder skies
May be the beams of death-freed eyes
That watch us from an unknown shore,
Still faithful to the vows of yore!
The vaulted blue of heaven may be
The looking glass of the mighty sea,
Where deathless souls their vigils keep
O'er fast decaying world, asleep.
Atlantis, the fabled city of old,
Whose gates inspired poets behold,
May now be resting beneath the wave,
Triumphant o'er a watery grave!
Its pearly gates and glittering spires
Arouse the poet's mad desires.
He sees—and sings in tongue unknown—
The mysteries by the Muses shown.
Conducted by a sybil fair,
He penetrates each demon lair
And pictures hell, in golden speech,
Beyond imagination's reach.
To highest heaven his thought has flown
And measured and admired the throne;
Made angels bow beneath his rod
And dared to mould the mind of God!
Who knows but legends the Muses tell
Are truths encased in a mighty dream?
Who knows but the angels of earth and air
Are the beautiful nymphs beside each stream?
Each singing bird and nodding flower
May be imbued with potent power;
And stars an influence, too, may wield
And bless or curse our natal hour!
Who knows but what we call a brute
Is with immortal reason blest?
Who knows man is alone divine
And destined to immortal rest?
Theorize and reason as we may,
How little we can really know;
We only learn to live, then die,
And who may say to what we go?