The tide is out, the wind blows off the shore; + 

Bare burn the white sands in the scorching sun; + 

The sea complains, but its great voice is low. + 

Bitter thy woes, O People, + 

And the burden + 

Hardly to be borne! + 

Wearily grows, O People, + 

All the aching + 

Of thy pierced heart, bruised and torn! + 

But yet thy time is not, + 

And low thy moaning. + 

Desert thy sands! + 

Not yet is thy breath hot, + 

Vengefully blowing; + 

It wafts o’er lifted hands. + 

The tide has turned; the vane veers slowly round; + 

Slow clouds are sweeping o’er the blinding light; + 

White crests curl on the sea⁠—its voice grows deep. + 

Angry thy heart, O People, + 

And its bleeding + 

Fire-tipped with rising hate! + 

Thy clasped hands part, O People, + 

For thy praying + 

Warmed not the desolate! + 

God did not hear thy moan: + 

Now it is swelling + 

To a great drowning cry; + 

A dark wind-cloud, a groan, + 

Now backward veering + 

From that deaf sky! + 

The tide flows in, the wind roars from the depths, + 

The whirled-white sand heaps with the foam-white waves; + 

Thundering the sea rolls o’er its shell-crunched wall! + 

Strong is thy rage, O People, + 

In its fury + 

Hurling thy tyrants down! + 

Thou metest wage, O People. + 

Very swiftly, + 

Now that thy hate is grown: + 

Thy time at last is come; + 

Thou heapest anguish, + 

Where thou thyself wert bare! + 

No longer to thy dumb + 

God clasped and kneeling, + 

Thou answerest thine own prayer. + 