The prayer of Noah.

The man went forth by night And listened; and the earth was dark and still, And he was driven of his great distress Into the forest; but the birds of night Sang sweetly; and he fell upon his face, And cried, "God, God! Thy billows and Thy waves Have swallowed up my soul.
"Where is my God?
For I have somewhat yet to plead with Thee; For I have walked the strands of Thy great deep, Heard the dull thunder of its rage afar, And its dread moaning.

O, the field is sweet,-- Spare it.

The delicate woods make white their trees With blossom,--spare them.

Life is sweet; behold There is much cattle, and the wild and tame, Father, do feed in quiet,--spare them.
"God! Where is my God?
The long wave doth not rear Her ghostly crest to lick the forest up, And like a chief in battle fall,--not yet.
The lightnings pour not down, from ragged holes In heaven, the torment of their forked tongues, And, like fell serpents, dart and sting,--not yet.
The winds awake not, with their awful wings To winnow, even as chaff, from out their track, All that withstandeth, and bring down the pride Of all things strong and all things high-- "Not yet.
O, let it not be yet.