John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
The Tent on the BeachThe Worship of Nature
T
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
And mirrors every star.
As kneels the human knee,
Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea!
Their gifts of pearl they bring,
And all the listening hills of earth
Take up the song they sing.
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset’s purple air.
Or low with sobs of pain,—
The thunder-organ of the cloud,
The dropping tears of rain.
The twilight forest grieves,
Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
From all its sunlit leaves.
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.
With which her years began,
And all her signs and voices shame
The prayerless heart of man.
The singer ceased. The moon’s white rays
Fell on the rapt, still face of her.
“Allah il Allah! He hath praise
From all things,” said the Traveller.
“Oft from the desert’s silent nights,
And mountain hymns of sunset lights,
My heart has felt rebuke, as in his tent
The Moslem’s prayer has shamed my Christian knee unbent.”
The bells in Newbury’s steeples tolled
The twelve dead hours; the lamp burned low;
The singer sought her canvas fold.
One sadly said, “At break of day
We strike our tent and go our way.”
But one made answer cheerily, “Never fear,
We ’ll pitch this tent of ours in type another year.”