MY best of blessings, when from thee,
     I turn, my feet, away,
My heart dies down, as children's do,
     From hearth and home who stray:
The heart, that fears no face of man,
     Nor shrinks, from shape of ill,
All melted, like a weaned child's,
     Is swayed, at thy sweet will.

Upon the stem and stormy sea,
     When tempests foam and frown,
The gentle moon, serene and still,
     In loveliness, looks down:
Silent and sweet, her tender eye
     The heaving mass controls,
And the whole world of water sleeps,
     Till not a ripple rolls.

My best of blessings, in my heart,
     Subdued, to love and thee,
Thy gentle beauty sinks, as soft
     As moonlight, in the sea:
Its waves and billows heave no more,
     Its storms and tempests cease:
And all its troubled depths are lulled,
     In placidness, and peace.

Project Canterbury