 THE SEA. by Verna Scheerd. redforlibrivox.org by Bruce Gachock. THE SEA is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, tis not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green, they drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. But for a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. THE SEA by Werner Scheerd Read for Libervox.org by Caitlin Buckley THE SEA is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, tis not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green, they drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sun-sweet-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. And that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green, they drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The sea, by Averna, sherd, read for lipovox.org by Chad Horner from Balli Clare in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, situated in the northeast of the island of Ireland. The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue, an emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public demand. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for leverbox.org by Chris Pyle The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry, for but a little, little round of years a sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for leverbox.org by David Lawrence The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find, who there fall fast asleep. What lovely dreams, tis not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the deep to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are infolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry, for but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-shrinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for leverbox.org by Dave Musgrove April 2020 The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find, who there fall fast asleep. What lovely dreams, does not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely tender cry. But for a little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org, Brandugate novelist. This sea is just a cradle, wide and deep. A cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find, who there fall fast asleep. What lovely dreams, does not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Elizabeth Onder The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find who there fall fast asleep. What lovely dreams, does not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Garth Burton The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find who there fall fast asleep. What lovely dreams, does not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to awaken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Greg Giordano, Newport Ritchie, Florida The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find who there fall fast asleep, but lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed for many fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd, read for Librivox.org by J. D. Gibson. The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro. What peace they find who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread life's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Sheard. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find who there fowl fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scherd Read for Librabox.org by Larry Wilson The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find who there fowl fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them, and endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver sea-goals know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sun-sweet-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Michelle Dyer. The sea is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find who there fowl fast asleep, what lovely dreams, it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds and thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Phil McCullough. The sea is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find who therefore fast asleep, what lovely dreams, is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opless and ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthralled touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber hushed from any fears to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Schampf. The sea is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds enthrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely, tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The sea by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Shakewell. The sea is just a cradle, wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Ehrman. The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery. He lights for them the candles of the sky. They are enfolded by the silken waves and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Sea, by Verna Scheerd, read for LibriVox.org by Yvonne Theodore. The sea is just a cradle wide and deep, a cradle that the moon rocks to and fro, what peace they find, who there fall fast asleep, what lovely dreams it is not for us to know. But God hath sent the angel of the sea to sing to them an endless lullaby, and that they may not dread night's mystery, he lights for them the candles of the sky. They are unfolded by the silken waves, and wrapped in shining blue and emerald green. They drift through opalescent ocean caves that only God himself hath ever seen. The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall touches them softly as it passes by. I think the silver seagulls know them all, and greet them with their lonely tender cry. For but a little, little round of years, the sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, and they will slumber, hushed from any fears, to waken when the sea gives up her dead. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain.