There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea;
Even read more

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold
me.

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a
pot of ointment.

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a
pot of ointment.

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
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Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;
Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,
Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.

What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing
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What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing
I hear but their low, lone song?

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
Are but read more

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man.

The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, read more

The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more.

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
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And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers.
. . . .
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.