Poem - Christine Erica Strom

We came in a Freighter

By Christine Erica Strom

“Of course I am,” you say,

“A seasoned traveller!”

And smile, with scornful lip

At those of us who feel there’s much to stir

In contemplating scenes of everyday.

The ship we meet; or pass, and leave astern;

The port, the wharves, the cargo lift, the strife;

These busy streets, moving with pulsing life;

This flowing foreign tide, the food, the dress;

This little child, safe-cradled in strong arms,

Who turns and smiles, as if she wished to share

Her sheltered happiness

With everyone.

These age men, and wise,

Who watch with friendly eyes,

And try, with stumbled word and anxious tone,

To give some help to us, in need of it.

These churches, grey and old,

That seem to hold

Not just the love of God, but all the sum

Of all the joy and all the tragedy

From hearts abrim with thankfulness, or numb

With bitter grief.

These trees in tender leaf,

Vibrant with spring:

The hidden birds that sing

Among the boughs.

The dancing gleams of light

Across the sea;

The spangled streams of streets in distant towns;

The sprinkled star-dust on the darkened hills

Where little villages await the night.

Of curling waves by day, in endless chain

Of patterns, lacy froth and creeping foam;

And whirling deep below, soft globes of white –

Of tiny bubbles held in magic stress –

To end in misty clouds of loveliness.

How good to find

In simple things like these

Rich pictures which, when etched upon the mind

Will last for us as long as memory.

And yet you say:

“Oh, what a boring day!”

Dear God, that in this world a man can be

So blind to all Your touch –

Missing so much, so much!