Vi. Fishers

We by no shining Galilean lake Have toiled, but long and little fruitfully In waves of a more old and bitter sea Our nets we cast; large winds, that sleep and wake Around the feet of Dawn and Sunset, make Our spiritual inhuman company, And formless shadows of water rise and flee All night around us till the morning break. Thus our lives wear--shall it be ever thus? Some idle day, when least we look for grace, Shall we see stand upon the shore indeed The visible Master, and the Lord of us, And leave our nets, nor question of His creed, Following the Christ within a young man’s face?