There was a lonely ark,
That sail'd o'er waters dark;
        And wide around,
Not one tall tree was seen,
No flower, nor leaf of green,
        All—all were drown'd.

Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread,
        A meek dove flew;
But on that shoreless tide
No living thing she spied,
        To cheer her view.

There was no chirping sound
O'er that wide watery bound,
        To soothe her wo;
But the cold surges spread
Their covering o'er the dead,
        That slept below.

So to the ark she fled,
With weary, drooping head,
        To seek for rest;
Christ is thy ark, my love,
Thou art the timid dove,—
        Fly to his breast.