The waves run up the shore

and fall back. I run

up the approaches of God

and fall back. The breakers return

reaching a little further,

gnawing away at the main land.

They have done this thousands

of years, exposing little by little

the rock under the soil’s face.

I must imitate them only

in my return to the assault,

not in their violence. Dashing

my prayers at him will achieve

little other than exposure

of the rock under his surface.

My returns must be made

on my knees. Let despair be known

as my ebb-tide; but let prayer

have its springs, too, brimming,

disarming him; discovering somewhere

among his fissures deposits of mercy

where trust may take root and grow.

 

R.S. Thomas (1913-2000),  ‘Tidal’, Mass for Hard Times (1992).