Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/47

 Full July in the fervent sky sets forth her twentieth of changing morns: Winds fall mild that of late waxed wild: no presage whispers or wails or warns: Far to west on the bland sea's breast a sailing crescent uprears her horns.

Seven wide miles the serene sea smiles between them stretching from rim to rim: Soft they shine, but a darker sign should bid not hope or belief wax dim: God's are these men, and not the sea's: their trust is set not on her but him.

God's? but who is the God whereto the prayers and incense of these men rise? What is he, that the wind and sea should fear him, quelled by his sunbright eyes? What, that men should return again, and hail him Lord of the servile skies?