Or ever the sea to dark heaven made moan in its hunger for light,
Or the four winds were born of the morning and missioned on various flight.
In a fold of His garment I slept, without motion, or knowledge, or skill
While age upon age the thought of creation took shape at His will;
· · · · ·
Part had I not in the scheme till He sent me to work on the reef.
Nude, in the seafoam, to clothe it with coralline blossom and leaf.
Patient I wrought—as a weaver that blindly plyeth the loom,
Nor knew that the God dwelt with me, there as I wrought in the gloom.
Strength had I not till chiefdom supreme of the waters He gave;