The ocean looketh up to heaven,
As ’twere a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given,
In ceaseless worshipping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand
As bends the human knee;
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea.

The mists are lifted from the rills,
Like the white wing of prayer;
They kneel above the ancient hills,
As doing homage there.

The forest-tops are lowly cast
O’er breezy hill and glen,
As if a prayerful spirit passed
On nature as on men.

The sky is as a temple’s arch:
The blue and wavy air
Is glorious with the spirit march
Of messengers at prayer.