While The Billy BoilsSearch“The river of God is full of water.”—Psalm.
THE RUSHES are black by the river bed,And the sheep and the cattle standWistful-eyed,—where the waters were,—In a waste of gravel and sand;Or pass o’er their dying and dead to slakeTheir thirst at the slimy pool.Shall they pine and perish in pangs of droughtWhile Thy river, O God, is full.
The fields are furrowed, the seed is sown,But no dews from the heavens are shed;And where shall the grain for the harvest be—?And how shall the poor be fed?In waterless gullies they winnow the earth,New-turned by the miner’s tool;And the way-farer faints ’neath his lightened load,1—Yet the river of God is full.
For us, O Father, from tropic seas,Let the clouds be filled that shedRough rains upon Andes’ eastward slope,—Soft snows on Himàleh’s head.Freight for us as for others thy dark-winged fleet,That soon by the waters cool,We may say with gladness,—“Our need was great,But the river of God was full!”