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Home  »  The Poets of Transcendentalism  »  Christopher Pearse Cranch (1813–1892)

George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.

The Ocean

Christopher Pearse Cranch (1813–1892)

  • “In a season of calm weather
  • Though inland far we be,
  • Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
  • That brought us hither,
  • Can in a moment travel thither,
  • And see the children sport upon the shore,
  • And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.”

  • TELL me, brother, what are we?

    Spirits bathing in the sea

    Of Deity!

    Half afloat, and half on land,

    Wishing much to leave the strand,

    Standing, gazing with devotion,

    Yet afraid to trust the ocean,—

    Such are we.

    Wanting love and holiness,

    To enjoy the wave’s caress;

    Wanting faith and heavenly hope,

    Buoyantly to bear us up;

    Yet impatient in our dwelling,

    When we hear the ocean swelling,

    And in every wave that rolls

    We behold the happy souls

    Peacefully, triumphantly

    Swimming on the smiling sea,

    Then we linger round the shore,

    Lovers of the earth no more.

    Once,—’t was in our infancy,—

    We were drifted by this sea

    To the coast of human birth,

    To this body and this earth;

    Gentle were the hands that bore

    Our young spirits to the shore;

    Gentle lips that bade us look

    Outward from our cradle-nook

    To the spirit-bearing ocean

    With such wonder and devotion,

    As, each stilly Sabbath day

    We were led a little way,

    Where we saw the waters swell

    Far away from inland dell,

    And received with grave delight

    Symbols of the Infinite:—

    Then our home was near the sea;

    “Heaven was round our infancy;”—

    Night and day we heard the waves

    Murmuring by us to their caves;—

    Floated in unconscious life

    With no later doubts at strife,

    Trustful of th’ Upholding Power,

    Who sustained us hour by hour.

    Now we ’ve wandered from the shore,

    Dwellers by the sea no more;

    Yet at times there comes a tone

    Telling of the visions flown,

    Soundings from the distant sea

    Where we left our purity:

    Distant glimpses of the surge

    Lure us down to ocean’s verge;

    There we stand with vague distress

    Yearning for the measureless,

    By half-wakened instincts driven,

    Half loving earth, half loving heaven,

    Fearing to put off and swim,

    Yet impelled to turn to Him,

    In whose life we live and move,

    And whose very name is Love.

    Grant me courage, Holy One,

    To become indeed thy son,

    And in thee, thou Parent-Sea,

    Live and love eternally.