The Republican journal., 1885-10-22
Sabbath Thoughts by the Sea.
Written for the journal.

Written for the Journal
Sitting this morning by the side of the grand
old ocean, | feel an unspeakable sense of its
grandeur and beauty. There is something
one cannot express-a thought within you that
sold ocean" seems to silence with breath. The
grandeur, the 5roadness. the splendor, Is such
that our greatest thought Is but an atom beside
1t, and with wave from Its hand, we are
hushed and awed, aye, almost shamed, by the
thought that we, in our smalness, should at
tempt to place in language such as ours, its in
finite greatness, and unbounded grandeur.
Truly we cannot interpret the song of its
waves, as they come dashing and splashing
against the pebbly shore, seeming to call to one
another, gIeefully, sadly, playfully, yes, almost
angrily at times, chasing one another from rock
to rock, peeping at each other, like little chill
dren playing at "hlde-and-.eek," laughing and
dancing in their glee, and tossing the snowy
foam at one another In joyful eXatation. OR
to see them as they come rolling In so grandly
after some fearful tempest, with such deep
and solemn voice, telling us-if we will but
listen-such sad, sad tales of what 1t has seen
and heard, far, far away upon Its ocean bed.
OH ocean, grand old ocean, can you express
to me what l fain would tell, but cannot? Can
you interpret to me the thoughts that your
music awakens in my soul? Whisper it to me
softly, gently, slowly, for surely l cannot bear
your full, whole words at first. | feel so weak
so like little child beside YOU | would begin
as child to learn your language, step by step,
| simply one short lesson at q time. | cannot bear
too many thoughts today, for your school Of
wonders seems to me beyond my depth OF power
of understanding.
VIII you tell me, pray, what you have seen
and heard along your shores this Sabbath
morn? Have you been able to interpret the
secret thoughts of the many tired and heart
sick ones, who have come from their various
homes-some from the heat and turmoil of the
city, other. from their quiet country homes
hoping to find beside your shores rest from
care and labor, and the hurry and worry of
| their other life, Who sit and listen to the sweet
| lullaby you sing them, until they are at last
| hushed and quieted, soothed as it were to
sleep like tired, impatient child upon Its
mothers breas-iulled to sleep at last by the
gentle song of the one who loves it. And tell
| me, can you read the thoughts of those who sit
| hour after hour beside your shores listening
| oh how eagerly, for some token of peace and
comfort; longing for rest to their tired minds
and aching hearts; listening with untold agony,
to catch some message of peace and hope; who
stand alone, with outstretched arms, longing to
lay their bursting hearts and throbbing brains
beneath your waves, to shut out forever the
utter sefshness and perpIeXity of life, in one
long sleep within the arms of grand old ocean;
to be wept over only by the waves, to be miss
ed only for a moment in the great whirl of life,
and then TO be forgotten a ripple upon the
bosom of the deep blue ocean. Oh, ocean,
dear old ocean, could you but know the
thoughts that lie so deeply hidden beneath
seeming happy face; could you but look upon
the years that are past. and know the daily
trials and untold agonios OF The many who
pace your shores, me thinks your waves
would break upon your pebby shores with
great sobs of pity for poor, weak humanity.
Sometimes when l lay AMI listen to your
voice at night, it seems to SPEAK words of peace
and comfort to me, that HIT me up to thoughts
! of the life to come, where al is JOY and rest.
Your waves have spoken TO me 50 many, many
words of comfort that YOU seem Ike some dear
| parent, ever willing to listen to my woes and
| trials patient with Inc always, rejoicing with
me IN my JOY, and helping me 10 live on with
| faith and hope as beacon lights ahead shining
| brightly now, making the rough way seem al
most joyous, and lighting up with untold bright
ness the pathway of my future life-making it
| seem at last worth the living, and death to me
seems now bat etepptns stone to greater Joys.
| But now, dear old ocean The time l. drawing
near, when mast stand for the last time, per
| haps, upon your mueh-loyed shores, for other
! duties call and must take long parting look
with something more upon my cheeks than the
kisses Of your laughing waves, for my eyes
andhear are filled to oNcr-llowing-but must
say old ocean, dear old ocean. fare thee well.
Mrs. y. NC.
| br.s