Songs of the Spirit

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 ! 30