I heard a whisper in the trees,
a song blown from the seas,
it carried in the breeze,
and hearing it did freeze.
I saw the eagle soaring high,
yet all will surely die;
Still the birds will fly
though even they must sigh.
The salty ocean air
so bracing, so bare,
reminded me that there
was only dark despair.
A broken soul can't stand
for all is sinking sand,
and there's no help at hand,
when nothing's solid land.
But through this song, wisdom sees,
and breaks with sudden cry:
this sorrow's but a snare;
there's hope in what God's planned.
Tale Told 