Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/111

Rh Think of a long road in a valley low,

Think of a wanderer in the distance far,

Lost like a voice among the scattered hills.

And when the moon has gone and ocean spills

Its waters backward from the trysting bar,

And in dark furrows of the night there tills

A jewelled plough, and many a falling star

Moves you to prayer, then will you think of me

On the long road that will not ever end.

Jonah is hoarse in Nineveh—I'd lend

My voice to save the town—and hurriedly

Goes Abraham with murdering knife, and Ruth

Is weary in the corn.... Yet will I stay,

For one flower blooms upon the rocks of truth,

God is in all our hurry and delay.