The waters are rising,
The flood will not subside.
We strive to stem the tide
To prevent capsizing,
Cumbered with freight of pride,
Rejecting faith as guide.
In self’s craft we place hope
As we steer to a shore
Receding and unreal.
Impudently we grope,
Paddling a feeble oar,
‘Til Heaven makes us kneel.
Then, faith grants us to see
The new moon in the night,
To hear the Word that saves,
The rosary’s mercy,
The lowered rope of light,
The Ark above the waves.
Thus the Fisher of souls
Casts His net to save us,
To draw us up above —
His, the rarest of hauls,
Hearts that He once gave us,
He harvests with His love.
