The Wet Litany

When the waters' countenance Blurs 'twixt glance and second glance; When our tattered smokes forerun Ashen 'neath a silvered sun; When the curtain of the haze Shuts upon our helpless ways, Hear the Channel Fleet at sea: Libera nos Domine! When the engines' bated pulse Scarcely thrills the nosing hulls; When the wash along the side Sounds, a-sudden, magnified; When the intolerable blast Marks each blindfold minute passed; When the fog-buoy's squattering flight Guides us 'through the haggard night; When the warning bugle blows; When the lettered doorway's close; When our brittle townships press, Impotent, on emptiness; When the unseen leadsmen lean Questioning a deep unseen; When their lessened count they tell To a bridge invisible; When the hid and perilous Cliffs return our cry to us; When the treble thickness spread Swallows up our next-ahead; When her sirens frightened whine Shows her sheering out of line; When, her passage undiscerned, We must turn where she has turned, Hear the Channel Fleet at sea: Libera nos Domine!