Peace for a season—in the heart of me, The peace which springs from very weariness. As one wave-rescued looketh on the sea, So look I on the time of my distress, A powerless power stretching forth weak hands To seize me who am fled from out its reach— An angry breaker beating on the beach, To die in spume streaks on the level sands— Yea, peace is come to me, and I am free,— And all the past is dead & will not rise— And that which shall be stretcheth fair, untrod— As one wave-rescued turneth from the sea, Landward to rest him—so I turn my eyes From past things to the future, thanking God.
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