Dense clouds of dampness creep down from the highland
Their grim ghostly gowns all obscuring the sky,
Draping the fields on the west coast of Ireland
In blankets of mist that bid daylight goodbye.
The heather is hidden, colour is swallowed,
It envelops the valleys, lake-lands and bogs,
Enshrouding the mountains, filling the hollows,
Blocking out beauty—this malevolent fog.
A fresh summer wind breezes in from the ocean
Dispersing the shroud of dread clinging dank—
The sun shines in splendour, the blue heavens open—
The gorse-lands respond in a blazing of thanks.
When times of despairing cloud out my vision,
When moody, depressed, feeling downcast and dour,
When doubt and dejection mar every decision,
Come wind of His Spirit! Come Word of His pow’r!
He scatters the darkness; Son-light is breaking,
Blue skies have displaced the malevolent mist;
He awakens my soul to vistas breathtaking:
In vales of despondence such pleasures I’d missed.
Though the shroud of despair might want to linger,
Blocking out beauty and beclouding your day,
God’s Spirit within’s a constant harbinger,
The blue dome of Heaven’s a whisper away.
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