AMPHORA 
VIII 
 
In Time of Drought 
 
 
HEN drought of summer parches up 
 Earth’s beatific bowers, 
O pour from Thy crystalline cup 
Ambrosial showers ! 
 
We wander shelterless athirst 
Throughout the wilderness, 
And Thou our pilgrimage accurst 
Alone canst bless. 
 
The red sun scorches up our veins ; 
The white moon makes us mad ; 
Pitiless stars insult our pains 
With clamour glad. 
 
But Thou art shelter and defence 
From them that rage and spoil. 
Assain our lives with penitence ! 
Our souls assoil ! 
Amen. 
 
W 
52