The Shepherd of the Sea

I am a mighty shepherd, and many are my flocks; 
I lead them, I feed them among the weedy rocks. 
My shepherd's crook is fashioned out of a Norway pine. 
And there's no sheep-dog in the world will herd these flocks of mine. 

My fold is wide, and day and night the walls shift of my fold,
No upland, no lowland my lambing ewes withhold
From the cry of their shepherd, the beckoning of his hand;
For my own desert places they leave the pastureland. 

With wild white fleeces surging about me to my knee, 
I go about my herding, the Shepherd of the Sea; 
I call to the rock-pastures the white sheep of the waves,
For they but find their grazing where sailors find their graves. 

I am a mighty shepherd, and mighty flocks have I; 
I lead them, I feed them while stars are in the sky; 
And when the moon is waning on sheltered shore and lee, 
I rest not nor slumber, the Shepherd of the Sea.