The Still Hour

The quiet of a shadow-haunted pool,
Where light breaks through in glorious tenderness;
Where the tranced pilgrim in the shelter cool
Forgets the way's distress, —

Such is this hour, this silent hour with Thee!
The trouble of the restless heart is still,
And every swaying wish breathes reverently
The whisper of Thy will.

Father, our thoughts are rushing wildly on,
Tumultuous, clouded with their own vain strife;
Darkened by cares from our own planting grown;
We call the tumult life.

And something of Thy Presence still is given:
The keen light flashing from the seething foam,
Through tangled boughs the sudden glimpse of heaven,
From Thee, Thee only, come.

And beautiful it is to catch Thy smile
Amid the rush, the hurrying flow of mind;
To feel Thy glance upon us all the while,
Most Holy and most Kind!

But oh! this hour of heavenly quietness,
When, as a lake that opens to the sky,
The soul, serene in its great blessedness,
Looks up to meet Thine eye!

Fountain of Life, in Thee alone is Light!
Shine through our being, cleansing us of sin,
Till we grow lucid with Thy Presence bright —
The peace of God within.

Yet nearer to our souls in blessing come!
O Thou Divine One, meet us a Friend!
With Thee alone is every heart at home:
Stay with us to the end!

By the stream's windings let us with Thee talk
Of this strange earth-life Thou so well hast known;
In Thy fresh footprints let us heavenward walk,
No more to grope alone!

If in our thoughts, by Thee made calm and clear,
The brightening image of Thy face we see,
What hour of all our lives can be so dear
As this still hour with Thee!