Our God in Heaven! Were it not for Thee,
We could go down to die as to a feast
Spread on the grey floor of mine host, the Sea,—
We could die out contented then, at least,
A smile on ev’n our never-smiling lips,
Dreaming of songs and splendours on sunk ships,—
But by Thy Majesty, ah, what are we?
Our God in Heaven! Is there such a one,
Or is that promise but the trick of Death
To cheat us of the glory we have won,
To rob of triumph this our parting breath,—
And does the end come with the heart’s last beat
And does the sea take everything, complete?—
No man doth know of this, for no man saith.
But Thou, who knowst how mutable is life,
Wouldst thou condemn to everlasting fire
Us who so oft have felt the thrill of strife
Smother with ashes fall’n from passion’s pyre
The saving spark of pity’s faint appeal?—
Dost thou not know the shame that we must feel,
Enslaved by him that was our slave, Desire?
We are so tired!... surely Thou dost know
(Granting that Thou art God, for argument)
How weary are the windings and how slow
The steps whereby our final course is bent,
How widely chill the days, how bleak the gloom?
Surely there is no need for other doom?—
Ah, Fate’s avenging hand should be content.