WHEN God drave the ruthless waters <br />From our cornfields to the sea, <br />Came she where our wives and daughters <br />Sobbed their thanks on bended knee. <br />Hidden faces! there ye found her <br />Mute as death, and staring wild <br />At the shadow waxing round her <br />Like the presence of her child— <br />Of her drenched and drowning child! <br /> <br />Dark thoughts live when tears won’t gather; <br />Who can tell us what she felt? <br />It was human, O my Father, <br />If she blamed Thee while she knelt! <br />Ever, as a benediction <br />Fell like balm on all and each, <br />Rose a young face whose affliction <br />Choked and stayed the founts of speech— <br />Stayed and shut the founts of speech! <br /> <br />Often doth she sit and ponder <br />Over gleams of happy hair! <br />How her white hands used to wander, <br />Like a flood of moonlight there! <br />Lord—our Lord! Thou know’st her weakness: <br />Give her faith that she may pray; <br />And the subtle strength of meekness, <br />Lest she falter by the way— <br />Falter, fainting, by the way! <br /> <br />“Darling!” saith she, wildly moaning <br />Where the grass-grown silence lies, <br />“Is there rest from sobs and groaning— <br />Rest with you beyond the skies? <br />Child of mine, so far above me! <br />Late it waxeth—dark and late; <br />Will the love with which I love thee, <br />Lift me where you sit and wait— <br />Darling! where you sit and wait?”<br /><br />Henry Kendall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lost-in-the-flood/
