Full of mirth, but leaving me Musing by another sea, Casting with its angry swell At my feet another shell. There upon the sand to rest, With a babe upon her breast, Came a mother, not a wife, Tossed upon the sea of life. As she sat and sat alone, Did she hear another moan? Waves that smiled, then swept the deck, Till they left this shattered wreck? Yes, while tear-drops rose and fell, There I heard the murmuring shell; Strange the tale it brought to me, Moaning echoes of the sea. Round and round the eddying world Had this straying shell been whirled; Round and round lay blackest night— Moths see nothing but the light. Tossed by sin and idle care, Pain and anguish found her there, Young and mirthful, fair but frail, There she learned the ocean’s wail. III. Hold it to the little ear, Children, tell me what you hear. Nothing? No, you cannot know All this human tide of woe. Would I be a child again, Not to know another’s pain? Mourn like some for childhood’s hours, Gathering nought but summer’s flowers? No. I want the power to tell, Power to hear the murmuring shell, Power to catch the rising moan, Power to make its wail my own. Learning thus to feel with pain, I shall be a child again, But a child experience taught, Child in heart—a man in thought. Then I’ll hear the echoing swell In the murmur of each shell, And with touch of friendship warm, Try to lull the raging storm. Lulled to rest, its song shall be, Murmurs of _another_ sea— Heavenly love shall thrill and dwell In the murmur of the shell. * * * * * Of that higher sea to tell, Make me, Lord, an echoing shell, That the world may hear in mine Echoes of the love divine. *The Calf.* "Ye shall go forth and gambol as calves of the stall."—Mal. iv. 2 (R.V.).