Wild Geese

A far, strange sound through the night,
A dauntless and resolute cry,
Clear in the tempest’s despite,
Ringing so wild and so high.

Darkness and tumult and dread,
Rain and the battling of gales,
Yet cleaving the storm overhead,
The wedge of the Wild Geese sails.

Pushing their perilous way,
Buffeted, beaten, and vexed;
Steadfast by night and by day,
Weary, but never perplexed;

Sure that the land of their hope
Waits beyond tempest and dread,
Sure that the dark where they grope
Shall glow with the morning red!

O birds in the wild, wild sky!
Would I could so follow God’s way
Through darkness, unquestioning why,
With only one thought to obey!

—Celia Thaxter.