A LITTLE child was playing by the shore
Of the broad blue sea,
And oft he looked away across the waves,
So wonderingly.
It was a new, entrancing sight to him,
That watery waste;
The tossing billows breaking on the sand,
With foam wreaths graced.
And often in his distant inland home,
With childish glee,
The boy would say to young and older friends,
“I’ve seen the sea!”
And so he had, the child made no mistake
His words were true;
But yet how much of ocean’s vast expanse
Had met his view?
Only the waves that rippled on the shore,
While far away,
The broad Atlantic in its depth and strength
Beyond him lay!
And thus we say we know the love of Christ;
And so we do.
‘Tis no exaggeration or mistake,
But sweetly true.
But, ah! How much of that unfathomed love
Do we yet know?
Only the ripples on the shores of time
The nearer flow!