All I Ask

I must down to the seas again,
For the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
That may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
With the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
And the seagulls crying.

-John Masefield, "Sea Fever"

Here in America

Saints and children we have gathered here to hear the sacred story
And I'm glad to bring it to you with my best rhyming and rhythm
'Cause I know the thirsty listen and down to the waters come
And the Holy King of Israel loves me here in America

And if you listen to my songs I hope you hear the water falling
I hope you feel the oceans crashing on the coast of north New England
I wish I could be there just to see them, two summers past I was
And the Holy King of Israel loves me here in America

And if I were a painter I do not know which I'd paint—
The calling of the ancient stars or assembling of the saints
And there's so much beauty around us for just two eyes to see
But everywhere I go I'm looking

And once I went to Appalachia for my father he was born there
And I saw the mountains waking with the innocence of children
And my soul is still there with them wrapped in the songs they brought
And the Holy King of Israel loves me here in America

And I've seen by the highways on a million exit ramps
Those two-legged memorials to the laws of happenstance
Waiting for four-wheeled messiahs to take them home again
But I am home anywhere if You are where I am

And if you listen to my songs I hope you hear the water falling
I hope you feel the oceans crashing on the coast of north New England
I wish I could be there just to see them, two summers past I was
And the Holy King of Israel loves me here in America

-Rich Mullins

Dusk

This Is My Father's World

This is my Father's world, and to my list'ning ears,
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres
This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; his hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world: he shines in all that's fair;
In the rustling grass I hear him pass, he speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world, O let me ne'er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.
This is my Father's world: The battle is not done;
Jesus who died shall be satisfied, and earth and heav'n be one.

-Maltbie D. Babcock

Sunset

Nice But Nubbly

In the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth—so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was the small 'Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale's right ear, so as to be out of harm's way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and said, “I'm hungry.” And the small 'Stute Fish said in a small 'stute voice, “Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?”

“No,” said the Whale. “What is it like?”

“Nice,” said the small 'Stute Fish. “Nice but nubbly.”

-Rudyard Kipling, “How the Whale Got His Throat,” Just So Stories

Dabble and Splash

This is my endlessly recurrent temptation: to go down to that Sea (I think St. John of the Cross called God a sea) and there never dive nor swim nor float, but only dabble and splash, careful not to get out of my depth and holding on the lifeline which connects me with my things temporal.

-C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

Mud Pies

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea…We are far too easily pleased.

-C. S. Lewis, Transposition and Other Addresses

Songs of Ocean

Lord, the water floods have lifted,
Ocean floods have lift their roar;
Now they pause where they have drifted,
Now they burst upon the shore.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
For the ocean's sounding store.

With all tones of waters blending,
Glorious is the breaking deep;
Glorious, beauteous without ending,
God Who reigns on heav'ns high steep.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Songs of ocean never sleep.

-John Keble, "God, the Lord, a King Remaineth"

Walking Across the Atlantic

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping out onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.

I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to image what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.

-Billy Collins

The Time Has Come...

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No clouds were in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead—
There were no birds to fly.

‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.’

-Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

Perseverance

Now, if God saves us, it will be a trying matter. All the way to heaven, we shall only get there by the skin of our teeth. We shall not go to heaven sailing along with sails swelling to the breeze, like sea birds with their white wings, but we shall proceed full often with sails rent to ribbons, with masts creaking, and the ship’s pumps at work both by night and day. We shall reach the city at the shutting of the gate, but not an hour before. O believer, thy Lord will bring thee safe to the end of thy pilgrimage; but mark, thou wilt never have one particle of strength to waste in wantonness upon the road. There will be enough to get thee up the hill of Difficulty, but only enough then by climbing on your hands and knees. You will have strength enough to fight Apollyon, but when the battle is over your arm will have no strength remaining. Your trials will be so many, that if you had only one trial more, it would be like the last ounce that breaks the camel’s back. But, nevertheless, though God’s love should thus try you all the journey through, your faith will bear the trying, for while God dashes you down to the earth with one hand in providence, he will lift you up with the other in grace. You will have consolation and affliction weighed out in equal degree, ounce for ounce, and grain for grain; you will be like the Israelite in the wilderness. If you gather much manna, you will have nothing over; while, blessed be God, if you gather little you shall have no lack. You shall have daily grace for daily trials.

-C. H. Spurgeon