Ever restless, ever toiling,
Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds,
Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds,
Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling,
Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky,
Lashes again the beaches angrily:

Slowly victor-like advancing,
Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land,
Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand,
In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing,
Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain,
No flower or shady leaf shall bud again.

Slowly thus the ocean creeping,
Creeping coldly o'er the world of old,
Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold,
And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping,
Long cheerless wavings of the sullen seas,
Were once the sun shone bright on flowery leas.

Over Earth, and over Being,
Over many glories of the Past,
Remorseless floods are flowing fierce and fast,
Snatching sun-lighted Tempes from our seeing,
Rolling their dreary surges o'er the shore,
Where Love had hoped to dwell for evermore.

Sadly on Time's heaving ocean,
Waving darkly o'er Youth's Paradise,
Back gaze we ever with dim tearful eyes,
Seeking old joys beyond its rude commotion,
Seeking the old world glories pass'd away,
Seeking the golden shores of Life's Cathay.