82 
THE STORM 
 
Even so draw me in life, O Mother, to thy breast ! 
Below the storm, below the wind, to the abiding rest ! 
That I may know thy purpose and understand thy ways : 
So, weeping always for the woe, also the love to praise ! 
 
The darkness falls intensely :  no light invades the gloom. 
Stillness drops dew-like from the heaven’s unreverberant 
womb. 
Westward the ship is riding on the sable wings of night, 
I understand the darkness—why should I seek the light ?