How gentle is the river now,
how slow and calm he seems,
and yet ’twas just an hour since
the banks were full of screams.
An hour since a life he took
down to his muddy bed,
and here I sit beside him still
while sorrow bows my head.
For still he’s more than beautiful
though he is more than cruel.
Impassive to our human thoughts,
he is beyond our rule.
Beyond judgement, beyond our hate,
he rolls beyond our cares.
He rolls above a child’s corpse
and still his beauty wears.
And does God see our brokenness,
our hearts heavy with grief?
Does God have eyes that he may weep
when death comes like a thief?
Or are His tears too great for us
that we may never see,
and heaven’s tears are running past
into the salty sea.
Tale Told 