English poem
The Flood
by John Newton (1725–1807)
Through small the drops of falling rain If one be singly view’d, Collected, they o’erspread the plain. And form a mighty flood.
The house it meets with in its course Should not be built on clay, Lest, with a wild, resistless force, It sweep the whole away.
Though for awhile it seem secure. It will not bear the shock Unless it has foundations sure, And stands upon a rock.
Thus sinners think their evil deeds. Like drops of rain, are small; But it the power of thought exceeds To count the sum of all.
One sin can raise, though small it seem. A flood to drown the soul; What then, when countless million stream— Shall join to swell the whole!
Yet, while they think the weather fair, If warn’d they smile or frown: But they will tremble and despair, When the fierce flood comes down.
Oh! then on Jesus ground your hope. That Stone in Zion laid; Lest your poor building quickly drop With ruin on your head.