Remember Him who stays the tempest, The stormy billows doth control, Who quickeneth the lifeless body, And fills the empty frame with soul. Behold! once more appears a wonder, The angry waves erst raging wild, Like quiet flocks of sheep reposing, So soft, so still, so gently mild. The sun descends, and high in heaven, The golden-circled moon doth stand. Within the sea the stars are straying, Like wanderers in an unknown land. The lights celestial in the waters Are flaming clearly as above, As though the very heavens descended, To seal a covenant of love. Perchance both sea and sky, twin oceans, From the same source of grace are sprung. 'Twixt these my heart, a third sea, surges, With songs resounding, clearly sung. II. A watery waste the sinful world has grown, With no dry spot whereon the eye can rest, No man, no beast, no bird to gaze upon, Can all be dead, with silent sleep possessed? Oh, how I long the hills and vales to see, To find myself on barren steppes were bliss. I peer about, but nothing greeteth me, Naught save the ship, the clouds, the waves' abyss, The crocodile which rushes from the deeps; The flood foams gray; the whirling waters reel, Now like its prey whereon at last it sweeps, The ocean swallows up the vessel's keel. The billows rage--exult, oh soul of mine, Soon shall thou enter the Lord's sacred shrine! ISRAEL, THE DOVE.[30] I. Thy undefiled dove, Thy fondling, Thy love, That once had, all blest, In Thy bosom her nest-- Why dost Thou forsake her Alone in the forest? And standest aloof, When her need is the sorest? While everywhere Threatens snare; Strangers stand around her, And strive night and day To lead her astray, While in silence she, In the dead of night, Looks up to Thee, Her sole delight. Dost Thou not hear, Her voice sweet and clear: Wilt aye thou forsake me? "My darling, my One! And I know that beside Thee, Redeemer, there's none!" II. How long will Thy dove Thus restlessly rove In the desert so wild, Mocked and reviled? And the maid-servant's son Came furiously on, Dart after dart. Pierced through my heart, Horrid birds of prey Lie soft in my nest, While I, without rest, Roam far, far away. And still I am waiting And contemplating; And counting the days, And counting the years; The miracles ceased No prophet appears; And wishing to learn About Thy return. And asking my sages: "Is the end drawing nigh?" They sadly reply: "That day and that hour But to him are known. And I know that beside Thee, Redeemer, there's none!" III.