There are times when all is afloat,
when no two waves fight,
a rock too appears light,
when all said, done, and thought,
all, absolutely, is right.
Then there comes the storm,
Violent.
Looking for refuge instinctively,
the comfort of former days long forgotten,
all there is is despair, weariness, in seas
in the selfsame stormy seas.
Why would the sense of security of old hold?
why would the memory refresh us and inspire?
why? The odds arise, setting themselves formidably
We try to rise up, shaken and distraught,
for we had fallen, short  of everything that is noble,
pure,honorable,praiseworthy...
Yet, through all days there remains the hope for all.
The man Christ Jesus