Which dips, one wide black shaft, most horrible, 
Down to the nether Hell. 
 
Yet there seems time.  God’s grief has not 
forgotten 
His mighty arm, and with His pitying breath 
A strong wind woke me ere my boat grew rotten 
With venom of the stream, that quivereth 
Now as He blew upon it—fish and bird 
Live at that silent word ! 
 
And I arose to seek the oars of Lying 
Wherewith I had embarked—the wind had torn 
Their wood to splinters—“ Jesus !  I am dying ! 
Send me Thy cross to fashion some unborn 
Oarage of Truth to quit this stream of Death ! ” 
O vain, O wasted breath ! 
 
I have no strength.  Upright I kneel, lamenting 
The days when Love seemed fair, the bitter years 
When pain might have found truth, ere unrelenting 
I shipwrecked Life !  O agony of tears ! 
Vain tears !  In silence, with abated breath 
I drift, drift on to Death ! 
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