What are the wild waves saying, Sister, the whole day long, That ever amid our playing I hear but their low, lone song?

There is many a rich stone laid up in the bowells of the earth, many a fair pearle in the bosome of the sea, that never was seene nor never shall bee.

Kidney transplants seem so routine now. But the first one was like Lindbergh's flight across the ocean.

The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast; And the woods against a stormy sky, Their giant branches toss'd.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.

Alone I walked on the ocean strand, A pearly shell was in my hand; I stooped, and wrote upon the sand My name, the year, the day. As onward from the sport I passed, One lingering look behind I cast, A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away.