There is a service on the sea to-day,
A Sabbath worship, whose cathedral is
The whole wide sea—all heaven for a dome.
Cloud-frescoes, white and rose, in airy form
Adorn the vaultings. Yonder pensively
A gentle file of novice-robéd ships
Draw near the golden altar of the East.
Each little wave has put a surplice on
And whitely joined the fair processional,
While offering up a silver note of song
To mingle in a Gloria Patri,—grand
In mighty melody of rolling wave,
In heavy surge of tide, and in the deep,
Great voice that mortal ear has named
The heart-beat of old Ocean.