The Story of the Waves
The ocean foam breaks on the shore; A thousand hurrying waves or moreMove with the tide, as, leaping high, The restless army marches by;Just so we tramp, on, always on— Though countless sleep, the rest march on;For those gone Home before the dawn, Or rosy herald of the sun,Were little feet long tired before They ever reached the ocean shore;They were the waves, the tiny hands, That never clasped the glittering sands.
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