Friday, August 16, 2019

The hermitage


I carry my own hermitage within:
A place apart, the world can wait outside
And nothing know, nor ever penetrate
The recess of the self where I abide.

My cell is furnished with such pretty things:
The stars of night, the sunlight on the sea,
And every lovely flower’s tenderness,
And music of heart-stopping poetry.

Here my beloveds, in the arms of prayer,
Rest tranquil, and my terrors are laid by
With tears of thankfulness. I can let go
Of all the busyness which I decry.

Here trembling hope has learned to reach in trust
And smile again; here peace with folded wings
Waits to embrace, to still my tottering doubts,
And whisper melodies till my heart sings.

And here is rest until my rest shall come;
Here, at the heart of all, my altar stands,
For underneath all things is utter love,
And I am held forever in his hands.

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