Rock of the sea, that long hath stood
   Within the ocean's cold embrace,
Braving the tempest and the flood,
   Maintaining still thine ancient place,
I often love to gaze on thee,
Thou dweller on the mighty sea.

O, Rock, around thine iron form
   What changing scenes have ever past,
The ocean rent by angry storm.
   Its roaring mingling with the blast;
Or, sweetly lulled against to rest,
The sunbeam sparkling on its breast!

So solitary and alone-
   Thou seem'st an outcast from the land;
Hath thy Land Sire in passion thrown
   Thee in the deep with hasty hand?
And must thou ever there remain,
Returning not to him again?

How oft the weary seaman bold,
   Amid the gloom of storm and night
With doubtful hand the helm did hold,
   Ere Art had crowned thy brow with light,
Building thereon the beacon tower
To cheer him in his trial hour!

Now oft amid the gloom, he'll hail
   Thy beacon's ever faithful glow;
'T will nerve him when his strength doth fail,
   When billows roar and tempests blow;
When moon and stars night's concave gem,
Its light will be as one of them.

The mariner no more will fear
   Thy presence in the gloom of night;
With confidence he now can steer,
   Relying on thy friendly light,
Which, piercing through the heavy gloom,
May save him from an ocean tomb!