Twice each day the divine sea's play makes glad with
⁠glory that comes and goes
Field and street that her waves keep sweet, when past
⁠the bounds of their old repose,
Fast and fierce in renewed reverse, the foam-flecked
⁠estuary ebbs and flows.

Broad and bold through the stays of old staked fast with
⁠trunks of the wildwood tree,
Up from shoreward, impelled far forward, by marsh and
⁠meadow, by lawn and lea,
Inland still at her own wild will swells, rolls, and revels
⁠the surging sea.

Strong as time, and as faith sublime,—clothed round with
⁠shadows of hopes and fears,
Nights and morrows, and joys and sorrows, alive with
⁠passion of prayers and tears,—
Stands the shrine that has seen decline eight hundred
⁠waxing and waning years.