When the sun slips low and the day is done,
the sea grows tired, wave by wave.
It has carried the boats and the bright white gulls,
and rocked the fish in their watery caves.
All day long the sea has worked, lifting and falling, rolling and shushing, holding up sailboats and tickling the shore. And now, as the first stars open their eyes, the great wide sea is ready, at last, to rest.
So hush now, sea, and slow your roll,
let your waves grow soft and small.
The moon is here to take the watch,
and the gentle night will hold you all.
The little waves curl in to the sand, slower and softer, one by one. They whisper their last sleepy secrets to the smooth and waiting shore, and then they are still.
Far out in the deep, the whales hang quiet in the dark warm water, swaying like cradles, dreaming their slow and enormous dreams. The little fish tuck into the swaying weeds. The crabs pull shut their tiny doors. And over them all, the sea breathes slow — in, and out, and in again — the oldest lullaby there is. It has hummed that song since long before the very first sailor set out, and it will hum it long after every boat is safely home.
Up on the quiet beach, the seashells lie in little rows, each one a tiny sleeping ear, listening to the hush of the waves. The sandpipers tuck their heads beneath their wings. The old wood boats lie still at their ropes. And high above the sleeping sea, the stars come out, one by one by one, until the whole dark sky is sprinkled bright, a mirror for the water below — the sea full of stars, and the stars like a sea, and the gentle night holding both.
On a rock at the edge of the sleeping sea, a lighthouse keeps its steady glow, turning, turning, soft and sure, watching over the boats below. "Sleep now," says its gentle light. "I will hold the dark away. Rest until the morning comes and turns the gray sea gold again."
Goodnight to the waves and goodnight to the shore,
goodnight to the gulls and the fish and the whale,
goodnight to the boats that are home safe at last,
and goodnight to the wind in the furled white sail.
The sea breathes slow. The stars hang bright. The whole wide ocean sleeps tonight. And if you listen, soft and low, you can hear it breathing, to and fro — the sleepy sea, the dreaming sea, rocking the world to sleep with me.