The tide is low, is low,
And the shining waves run out,
And along the pebbled beach
The children play and shout.
To-night these waves will come
Speaking along the shore,—
But the voice that is in my heart
I shall hear no more, no more.
To-night these waves will come,
Beating with life from the main,—
But the heart of my very heart
Will never beat again.
A draft of “The Tide is Low,” courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.