Today the windward gauge fills bellied sails
And blasting broadsides roar from canon's throat!
The Church with storm and shot the foe assails
And pierces flesh with sweet salvation's note!
But I'm a ship becalmed. No zephyr's sigh
Stirs desiccated canvas rotting there
Aloft in rigging hoist to haunted skies,
Stretched forth like hands upraised in unmoved prayer.
No nimble-kindled leaping agile tongues
Dart delicate and deft to dance the truth,
But corposants burn cold like pales ghosts hung
To chill hard hearts' congealed in thawless ruth.
Lord, torch my rotting timbers. Drive me forth,
Charred to the waterline, to serve in death.
Charred to the waterline, to serve in death.
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