Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2232/Down by the Shore

by the shore at morning Wearily moans the sea; The brown wrack clings to the bare grey rocks, And the wind sighs drearily. The mist creeps over the waters From windward on to the lee, Wrapping the ships in its cold embrace Sadly and silently.

Down by the shore at evening The mists are rolling away In long white wreaths, on the solemn hills That shelter the lonely bay. Bright with a rare effulgence, The golden clouds are furled, And the faint blue peaks o'er the distant sea Seem the dream of another world.

Down by the sea of sorrow The mists lay cold and grey, And never a glimpse of the gracious sun Broke through the gloom that day. But the clouds were rolled together, Just ere the daylight died, And we saw the land of Beulah smile In the light of eventide.