Sea-Weed was retrieved from the anthology, Gifts of Genius: A Miscellany of Poetry and Prose by American Authors (1859).
Not always unimpeded can I pray,
Nor, pitying saint, thine intercession claim:
Too closely clings the burden of the day,
And all the mint and anise that I pay
But swells my debt and deepens my self-blame.

Shall I less patience have than Thou, who know
That Thou revisit'st all who wait for Thee,
Nor only fill'st the unsounded depths below
But dost refresh with measured overflow
The rifts where unregarded mosses be?

The drooping sea-weed hears, in night abyssed,
Far and more far the waves' receding shocks,
Nor doubts, through all the darkness and the mist
That the pale shepherdess will keep her tryst,
And shoreward lead once more her foam-fleeced flocks.

For the same wave that laps the Carib shore
With momentary curves of pearl and gold,
Goes hurrying thence to gladden with its roar
The lorn shells camped on rocks of Labrador,
By love divine on that glad errand rolled.

And, though Thy healing waters far withdraw,
I, too, can wait and feed on hopes of Thee,
And of the dear recurrence of thy Law,
Sure that the parting grace which morning saw,
Abides its time to come in search of me.

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