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the still hour.
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;
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.
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.
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,
The keen light flashing from the seething foam,
