On the Sea-Shore
Wie schäumt so feierlich
de la Motte Fouqué.
Thou, solemn Ocean, rollest to the strand
Laden with prayers from many a far-off land,
To us thy thousand murmurs at our feet
One cry repeat.
Through all thy myriad tones that never cease
We hear of death and love, the cross and peace,
New churches bright with hope and glad with psalms,
And martyrs' palms.
Then on! and come whate'er our God sees fit!
To yon frail wave-toss'd planks we now commit
Our lives, our all, and leave our native land
At His command.
We take thee for our chariot, stormy Sea!
Borne safely on to serve our God by thee,
For thou and we alike obey His word
And own Him Lord.
And whether thy chill deeps become our grave,
Or far away our blood shall stain thy wave,
Or we shall cross with joyous songs thy foam
Back to our home:
Be it as He ordains whose name is Love!
Whether our lot or life or death shall prove,
To Life Eternal surely guides His will,
And we are still.