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For Travellers

IV.
On the Sea-Shore

10,10,10,4

Wie schäumt so feierlich

de la Motte Fouqué.

Thou, solemn Ocean, rollest to the strand

Laden with prayers from many a far-off land,

To us thy thousand murmurs at our feet

One cry repeat.

Through all thy myriad tones that never cease

We hear of death and love, the cross and peace,

New churches bright with hope and glad with psalms,

And martyrs' palms.

Then on! and come whate'er our God sees fit!

To yon frail wave-toss'd planks we now commit

Our lives, our all, and leave our native land

At His command.

113

We take thee for our chariot, stormy Sea!

Borne safely on to serve our God by thee,

For thou and we alike obey His word

And own Him Lord.

And whether thy chill deeps become our grave,

Or far away our blood shall stain thy wave,

Or we shall cross with joyous songs thy foam

Back to our home:

Be it as He ordains whose name is Love!

Whether our lot or life or death shall prove,

To Life Eternal surely guides His will,

And we are still.

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