The Tide of the Sea—listen, its breathing voice is triumphant As the sound of clarions and trumpets heralding kings— The tide whispers her "Hail," Mother! Rulers of men are thy sons, born to be princes In dim far-frontiered lands. Government is on their shoulders. "Sovereign justice and order and peace they plant in their footsteps, They subdue the desert with streams, the vast ravaging rivers With bridges of steel, alone they grip in a mortal contest Demons, things that devour, Plague, Pestilence, Famine, pitiless beasts, The venomous, ancient, dark, elemental Powers of the Jungle. "Not in purple arrayed nor crowned with any diadem Are these thy sons. From the deep heart of unrealised continents, Where as strangers they rule, they as strangers return, Mother, here to thy heart. Many may not return, so hospitable the alien grave. One is the vital power that is urging them, whether incessant "They move with the travelling tide or are scattered over Earth. The Sea glories, the Sea in a rapture of rushing surges Triumphs, his waves clap their innumerable hands, Dancing before the Sun. 'Mine are thy sons!' he calls to thee, 'Queen, rejoice in my children.'" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLOISTER by ISAAC ROSENBERG TUOL SLENG: POL POT'S PRISON by KAREN SWENSON THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER by RUPERT BROOKE ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION by HORACE SMITH HYMN TO SCIENCE by MARK AKENSIDE |