Billows of darkness and waves of pain, With thunder and crash, swirl and roar, They have come with fury unimagined, And now in the eddies, I search, search For just one note of sensibility, One feather of life, one brick left standing, And find debris, debris, Flotsam and jetsam, stormchildren, floating In tragic gurgle, and tilt, seaweed and garbage. Will it end here, in stormruin and silence, On an ash-heap, with pieces of pottery scraping, And mien suddenly aged, on a painful wrack of skin and bone? Or to rise, phoenix-like, with glad Spring-cry, And wing my way into vaults of deep blue, With cries of 'Deny Him and live!' 'Curse Him and die! What doth it avail thee?' Ringing in my ears, and fearful visages Snapping at my heels, dog-like, bestial.. Will I accept only Good from Him, and not the Hard? Will I forget the years of plenty In one night of Sorrow, One twilight of Grief, One evening of Anguish? Though clouds cover, the North Star does not move. In the Absence, let me see and know with the Intimacy of soil against foot, The King lives, Blessed be His Name.