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.