POEMS FROM “THALATTA” 387 
The tide recedes, — the flat smooth beach grows 
bare, 
More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, 
Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair, 
As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears. 
What channel needs our faith except the eyes ? 
God leaves no spot of earth unglorified ; 
Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise ; 
New beauties dawn before the old have died. 
Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power 
Who holds these faint soft shadows in His 
hand ; 
Believe and live, and know that hour by hour 
Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand. 
II. 
THE MORNING MIST. 
The mist that like a dim soft pall was lying, 
Mingling the gray sea with the low gray sky, 
Floats upward now; the sunny breeze is sigh- 
ing, 
And Youth stands pale before his destiny : 
O passionate heart of Youth! 
Each rolling wave with herald voice is crying ; 
Thou canst delay, but never shun replying, 
