Ah, Yes, The Sea Is Still And

What Child Has A Heart To Sing In This Capricious Clime Of Ours, When Spring Comes Sailing In From The Sea, With Wet And Heavy Cloud-sails And The Misty Pennon Of The East-wind Nailed To The Mast.

All Things Must Change To Something New, To Something Strange.

To Be Left Alone, And Face To Face With My Own Crime, Had Been Just Retribution.

For Bells Are The Voice Of The Church; They Have Tones That Touch And Search The Hearts Of Young And Old.

You Would Attain To The Divine Perfection.