The little harbours of the island lie
Snugly at rest, below the headlands green,
Each a retreat from the stormy winds that whip
The waves to fury ‘neath a lowering sky,
A place of quiet in the prevailing din,
A place of refuge for beleagured ship.
What though the tempest howl, the waters high
Beyond the wall? Within, a calm serene
Pervades, a peace that like a seaman’s grip,
Hand clasping hand, holds tight, nor questions why.
Sanctuary is witheld not: all ships come
That are in peril, what their flag or crew.
Souls that feel need and danger have a home
In the great Heart of One who suffering knew !
Mona’s Herald 23.10.62