Poetry Archives

I.

When, in the mid-sea of the night,
  I waken at thy call, O Lord,
  The first that troop my bark aboard
Are darksome imps that hate the light,
Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight—
  Of wraths and cares a pirate horde—
Though on the mid-sea of the night
  It was thy call that waked me, Lord.

Then I must to my arms and fight—
  Catch up my shield and two-edged sword,
  The words of him who is thy word—
Nor cease till they are put to flight;
Then in the mid-sea of the night
  I turn and listen for thee, Lord.

II.

There comes no voice from thee, O Lord,
  Across the mid-sea of the night!
  I lift my voice and cry with might:
If thou keep silent, soon a horde
Of imps again will swarm aboard,
  And I shall be in sorry plight
If no voice come from thee, my Lord,
Across the mid-sea of the night.

There comes no voice; I hear no word!
  But in my soul dawns something bright:—
  There is no sea, no foe to fight!
Thy heart and mine beat one accord:
I need no voice from thee, O Lord,
  Across the mid-sea of the night.