"And a vision appeared to Paul in the night: There stood a man of Macedonia and prayed him saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us." -- Acts 16:9.
"Wei schaumt so feierlich zu unsern Fuessen."
F. de la Motte Fouque.
transl., Jane Borthwick, 1858
Dark mighty Ocean, rolling to our feet!
In thy low murmur many voices meet,
The sound of distant lands brought strangely near
To Fancy's ear.
From shores unknown comes the sweet Sabbath bell,
New languages the old glad tidings tell,
We hear the hymn of praise -- the martyr's Song --
All borne along.
And starting at the summons, we obey,
And o'er thy waves prepare to find our way,
Leaving the ties of country and of home,
Ocean, we come!
Our chariot thou, to bear us to the lands
Where fields of promise wait our willing hands;
Thou and ourselves are servants. to fulfill
Our Master's will!
And whether in thy depths we find a grave,
Or with our heart's-blood dye the distant wave,
Or with glad hopes, upon thy billows borne,
Whether to death or life our course leads on --
The Master knows -- His holy will be done!
To life eternal, When all storms are past,
We come at last!