THE RED SEA
BY
FRANCIS BOWLER PRATT
A sea of blood is rising and beating at the Wall
Of Peace, that threatens sorely, with each new tide to fall.
Upon its crimson surface (O God! the fearful cost)!
Like floatage from a shipwreck, humanity is lost.
Dashed to a doom relentless, worn age and noble youth,
Cast at Thy feet, all broken, are at the sea’s grim ruth.
God of the slain and slayer, the craven and the brave,
The scarlet waters, corpse-strewn, Thy very throne must lave
If Thou stay not the flood-tide (’tis brimmed with women’s tears.)
Cup in Thy hand this Red Sea, and calm men’s dread and fears;
Dread of the devastation wrought by a bitter war.
Fear for its flower, and promise fed to a greedy maw.
Lord, dry the springs of hatred and check this stream of death.
Man’s burning lust of power quench with Thy potent breath.
Wielder of mighty waters, ward of the tiny stream;
Source of the sun’s effulgence and of the moon’s pale beam;
God of the sheltered seedling and the surrendered grain,
Grant that to realms war-deluged Thy Kingdom Come again.