Richard Wilton (1827–1903)

UP the long slope of this low sandy shore

Are rolled the tidal waters day by day;

Traces of wandering feet are washed away,

Relics of busy hands are seen no more.

The soiled and trampled surface is smooth’d o’er

By punctual waves that high behests obey;

Once and again the tides assert their sway,

And o’er the sands their cleansing waters pour.

Even so, Lord, daily, hourly, o’er my soul

Sin-stained and care-worn, let Thy heavenly Grace—

A blest, atoning flood—divinely roll,

And all the footsteps of the world efface,

That like the wave-washed sand this soul of mine,

Spotless and fair, smooth and serene, may shine!