There was a noble ark,
Sailing o’er the waters dark
And wide around.
Not one tall 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 the Ark, my love;
Thou art the tender dove—
Fly to His breast!
ML 12/11/1927