Irreverent, The

They sin – how grievously thou knowest alone,

         O Highest Majesty! – who, day by day,

         Front the full pomp of ocean’s regal sway,

Never ashamed to walk the narrow zone

Of self-debasement, or breathe, moan by moan,

         Their petty griefs, or shriek their pettier fray

         In sound of that magnificent array,

And pride of waters round his awful throne

Nursed in the lap of earth’s almightiness,

         And fed with grandeur as with daily food,

A soul should trample down its weaknesses,

         Forth stepping calmly to the height of good,

         Till in his common part should men confess

The all-exalting power of nature’s magnitude