The night, unfolding, banishes the day;
The moon seems, in its long survey,
To brood upon the sleeping silences;
All the air is pure and clear,
Pure and pale afar and near,
And clear the waters in the friendly mead;
What agony is in the slow
And steady drip of water from a reed,
That sounds and then is hushed below!
But in my hands thy hands I hold;
Thy steadfast eyes enfold
Mine eyes; I see
Thy peace like purest water undefiled
By cloudy fear, undimmed by hovering wraith
Of doubt, and oh, I see
The perfect faith
That rests within us like a sleeping child.
V
Remembering thy gracious gift to me,
So simple, so profound,
My wondering heart is lost in prayer to thee.
How long it seemed before
I, groping, found
And knocked at thy heart's door;
And from how far I came at last to thee
Whose hands were stretched in silent
search for me.
My heart was eaten by corroding rust
That preyed upon my strength,
Defiled my trust;
I was weary, I was old with long mistrust,
I sickened of the roadway's empty length.
When thy feet wandered into my life's way
They brought a joy so exquisite to me
That, trembling and in tears, I can but stay
To worship silently.