There is Sorrow On The Sea

( Jeremiah 49:23, from Spurgeon’s, ‘Evening by Evening’, 9/7)

“It cannot be quiet…” for the sea longs
to give up its dead! All its billows roll
over so many bones: ruins of the fallen,
all the drawn under–the sea
mourns for them! It weeps in its
waves, keens in wind, and ends in
sobs, the shudders of pebbles on sand.

The sea remembers some comfort,
once: the exquisite voice of Him
who understands this pain,
who does sit by and moan, who does
share such sorrow too! The sea was
silenced at the word of this One,
and longed for its own annihilation,

for time’s final unwinding,
heavens bright dawn
and the end of all turmoil–
when the sea will be relieved of grief,
and its salt tears at last.
Like the sun and moon, it will be gone, and yet
a rainbow, like an emerald, is around Him.

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One Comment on “There is Sorrow On The Sea”

  1. Karen Butler Says:

    I was inspired by Spurgeon’s devotional classic, and its fancy of the sea itself mourning the dead, but I was also paying a small tribute to another favorite poet, William Blake. (Yes, I know he is heretical. I like his POETRY!)

    This is his own beautiful poem, that needs to be read, it is so beautiful:

    On Another’s Sorrow

    Can I see another’s woe,
    And not be in sorrow too?
    Can I see another’s grief,
    And not seek for kind relief?

    Can I see a falling tear,
    And not feel my sorrow’s share?
    Can a father see his child
    Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

    Can a mother sit and hear
    An infant groan, an infant fear?
    No, no! never can it be!
    Never, never can it be!

    And can He who smiles on all
    Hear the wren with sorrows small,
    Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
    Hear the woes that infants bear —

    And not sit beside the nest,
    Pouring pity in their breast,
    And not sit the cradle near,
    Weeping tear on infant’s tear?

    And not sit both night and day,
    Wiping all our tears away?
    Oh no! never can it be!
    Never, never can it be!
    He doth give his joy to all:
    He becomes an infant small,
    He becomes a man of woe,
    He doth feel the sorrow too.

    Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
    And thy Maker is not by:
    Think not thou canst weep a tear,
    And thy Maker is not near.

    Oh He gives to us his joy,
    That our grief He may destroy:
    Till our grief is fled and gone
    He doth sit by us and moan.


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