Are but His signs, Who lonely paced The midnight waters drear. Hark! in the gale how softly thrills ""Tis I," He saith: "be not afraid !" Whether in ocean vast, Or where across the moonlight glade Or flickering shadows come and go While midnight lamps burn dim and low, One only spell hath power to soothe Name thou His Name, Who is the Truth, Loneliness. As when new-risen on Easter night Fear with His sudden shade, calm might Him name in Faith, and softly make So never need thy young heart ache 141 4. SHYNESS. "Moses hid his face; for he was afraid to look upon God." TEAR not away the veil, dear friend, Nor from its shelter rudely rend The heaven-protected flower: It waits for sun and shower To woo it kindly forth in its own time, And when they come, untaught will know its hour of prime. Blame not the eye that from thee turns, The cheek that in a moment burns With tingling fire so bright, Feeling thine eager sight,— The lowly drooping brow, the stammering tongue, The giddy wavering thought, scarce knowing right and wrong. Shyness. What if herein weak Nature own Her trembling underneath His Throne, Whose eye can ne'er depart From our frail evil heart? Who knows how near His look of awful love 143 The gaze of aged men may to the young heart prove? The springs of silent awe, that dwell When in His destined hour He calls them out in power. Hide thou thy face, and fear to look on God, With quivering hands that closely fold The Shepherd on the Mount Adores the Living Fount Of pure unwasting fire: no glance he steals, But in his heart's deep joy the Dread Eye gazing feels, Feels it, and gladlier far would die Till the Dread Voice return, And he the lore may learn Of his appointed task-bold deeds to dare, High mysteries to impart, deep penances to bear. Ere long to the same holy place Then onward bear the rays To Israel priest and people from his glance Will shrink, as he from God's in that deep Horeb trance. Then tear we not the veil away, Nor ruthless tell in open day The tender spirit's dream. O let the deepening stream Might from the mountain-springs in silence draw. O mar we not His work, who trains His saints in awe! |