Lord Of The Sea, We Sun-Filled Creatures Raise Our Hands Among The Clamorous Weeds,--We Too. Lord Of The Sun, And Of The Upper Blue, Of All To-Morrow, And All Yesterdays, Here, Where The Thousand Broken Names And Ways Of Worship Are But Shards We Wandered Through, There Is No Gift To Offer, Or Undo; There Is No Prayer Left In Us, Only Praise. Only To Glory In This Glory Here, Through The Dead Smoke Of Myriad Sacrifice;-- To Look Through These Blue Spaces, Blind And Clear Even As The Seaward Gaze Of Homer'S Eyes; And From Uplifted Heart, And Cup, To Pour Wine To The Unknown God.--We Ask No More.