Poems (Angier)/The Ocean's Dead

by Annie Lanman Angier

THE OCEAN'S DEAD.

Who with a careless hand would rend
 The veil of mystery;
And have unfolded to his view
 The secrets of the sea?

The waters foam and dash, then rest
 As calmly as before;
And leave no shadow of a wreck
 Of what they proudly bore.

But precious things we know are hid
 Beneath the ocean wave;
And costly pearls and gems bedeck
 The mermaid's shining cave;

But treasures richer far than these
 Are buried in the sea;
Loved ones, whose names we fondly keep
 Green in our memory.

There, in one cradle-bed are rocked
 The mother and her child:
They heed no more the tempest's shock
 Or billows dashing wild.

There sleeps the sire whose head was bowed
 Beneath the weight of years,
Whose furrowed cheek the traces wore
 Of cares, and griefs, and tears.

The blooming maiden lately decked
 For bridal and for ball;
A blue wave is her winding-sheet,
 The rolling surf her pall.

And manhood, to whose beaming eye
 The future brightly shone,
There lies in dreamless slumber locked,
 Hope's fairy visions flown.

The haughty monarch and his slave,
 They sleep there, side by side;
One has his sorrows all forgot,
 The other all his pride.

The noble from his princely hall,
 The peasant from his cot,
On the same pillow rest their heads,
 And share one common lot.

The pen of man may freely trace
 The story of the land;
But who thy mystery, O Sea,
 Can fully understand?

O Deep! thy fearful history
 Will never all be read,
Till He who sees thy darkest caves
 Shall wake thy countless dead.