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| Part of the Scene which inspired the Poem |
The wind dips His long fingers
To touch the water’s surface.
His gentle stroking lingers
Creating ripples restless.
The Mill stirs not the water so
With whirring whispers waking
The water to its depths would go
No pardon for the taking.
The sun shines flashing softly
Dancing reflections on the work
The wind’s fingers have done deftly
Not stirring up the murk.
The wind, the better of the two,
Knows how to stir the stream
For his ally with him woo
The water with gentle touch and beam.
Yet why we listen to the Mill
It’s churning sounds appealing
It cannot hold the water still
But many souls has it been stealing.
Gentle wind of God I thank thee
Though I hear the Mill of Satan
You always gently guide me
And to my rescue quickly hasten.
My spirit yields to breezes fine
I am rippled by His grace divine
For in His touch all shall find
Slow to anger,
and always kind.
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