Ebb and Flow
'Tis something to have turned the tide That ebbed and ebbed and slid away, Till all the sands lay bare and wide, A dreary level, bleak and gray. The hidden rocks, the treacherous shore, Show black and steep above the sea; The maddened breakers rave no more, Full fast the outward billows flee. Rest for thy moment, turning tide! Then creep and ripple on the sand. I fear no more thy waters wide, I know the dangers of the strand. Now let the white-caps foam and flow, The soul assured may laugh at fear, And bear serene the heaviest woe, So that its utmost depths appear.
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