RISING TIDE.
Foam flecked the fragrant waves rush gayly up
The creamy beach, or sport amid the reefs,
With song's triumphant, on and on they come;
And as the fair horizon bends her bow
To guard the bay, a "liner" dim discerned
Is signaled ere she softly sinks from view
Behind the purple curtain of the deep.
Glance, graceful gull,—
Through rifts of spray, until my raptured soul
Baptized with joy attunes its eager harp
To Ocean's mood ... so redolent with life,
And hope, and destiny.