Where silence broods on ruin, thou alone,
Sweet oracle, in rippling numbers low,
Dost onward through the waste of ages flow,
As an eternal echo. With thy tone
Blent David's holy anthems, and the moan
That shook his heart in exile didst thou know,
What time his tears of tributary woe
Commingled with thy wave. And David's Son
In after years, on Love's vicarious way,
Breathed life above thee, and thy torrent told
Its music to the wide-proclaiming sea:
And still, through all earth's changes manifold,
Where death and silence strive for mastery,
Throbs the prophetic burden of thy lay.