The Deluge
by G. K. Chesterton, British wit, journalist, and theologian of the early 20th century
Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign.
Though earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here,
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up and drank to God.
Sun has been where the rain is now,
Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
Now let the deluge come.
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now,
Drink to the wrath of God.
High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were heaven and earth,
This hallow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight,
And drained it like a cup.
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