BOATMAN, boatman! my brain is wild, As wild as the stormy seas; My poor little child, my sweet little child, Is a corpse upon my knees. No holy choir to sing so low, No priest to kneel in prayer, No tire-woman to help me sew A cap for his golden hair. Dropping his oars in the rainy sea, The pious boatman cried, Not without Him who is life to thee Could the little child have died! His grace the same, and the same His power, Demanding our love and trust, Whether He makes of the dust a flower, Or changes a flower to dust. On the land and the water, all in all, The strength to be still or pray, To blight the leaves in their time to fall, Or light up the hills with May. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 6. HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS by MARK AKENSIDE THE SPIRIT AND THE CUP by A. E. ANDERSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 2. MUTUAL LOVE by PHILIP AYRES PENTRIDGE BY THE RIVER by WILLIAM BARNES SONNET: 13 by RICHARD BARNFIELD IN THE ST. GOTTHARDT PASS by MATHILDE BLIND |