There was a noble ark
Sailing o’er waters dark
And wide around;
Not one tail tree was seen,
Nor flower, nor leaf of green—
All, all was drowned.
Then a soft wing was spread,
And o’er the billows dread
A meek dove flew;
But on that shoreless tide
No living thing she spied
To cheer her view.
So to the ark she fled,
With weary, drooping head,
To seek for rest;
Christ is thine Ark, my love,
Thou art the tender dove;
Fly to His breast.
ML 03/05/1944