The grim voyage on a grave sea
Killing, crashing, roaring blows
The horrid froth of unkind waves
Monstrous surfs wearing mane
Unequipped light Skiff
Skippers here but look unfledged
Oars are unreliable
Chance is unpredictable
Maps lost and long-forgotten
Misty haze
Dense and opaque
Lighthouse tower nowhere seen
Eyes are groping
For its nodding, guiding beams
Leaving oars I close my eyes, my hands I raise
Extend Your mercy
O Lord of lords
Great of greats
Grand of grand
Verily, You are the One we worship and praise!
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From The Casements Of My Land (Ii)
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