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Poem by Arthur Hugh Clough


O Thou of Llittle Faith


It may be true
That while we walk the troublous tossing sea,
That when we see the oertopping waves advance,
And when we feel our feet beneath us sink,
There are who walk beside us; and the cry
That rises so spontaneous to the lips,
The Help us or we perish, is not nought,
An evanescent spectrum of disease.
It may be that indeed and not in fancy,
A hand that is not ours upstays our steps,
A voice that is not ours commands the waves;
Commands the waves, and whispers in our ear,
O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?
At any rate,
That there are beings above us, I believe,
And when we lift up holy hands of prayer,
I will not say they will not give us aid.



Arthur Hugh Clough


Arthur Hugh Clough's other poems:
  1. Hope Evermore and Believe!
  2. Qui Laborat, Orat
  3. The Questioning Spirit
  4. Easter Day II
  5. To a Sleeping Child


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