Thrasher's Call

A leaf is carried on the stream by currents through its bends; it makes no choice to stay or stop, it can do none but float atop ‘til it reach at last the river’s ends, and finds itself swept, not by winds, but towed by depths to sea, where, deeper still than ocean’s lee, that pow’r, whence time and tide descends resides, presides, and reigns: not gravity, no nameless force weaves our time-bound ways. The King of Love, who deigns to stoop to know and shape our course and sends afloat, with care, our days.