 | The Literary Works of James Smetham |  |
THE REFUGE
Let thought on thought reveal my Lord in me;Thou last, best, only, everlasting Rest,
Open Thy loving arms and take me in.
O do not send me unrefreshed away,
Weary and bleeding from my mountain toil—
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Chased by thin ghosts and doubtful phantasies;
By dreadful whispers on the lonely height;
By great abysses full of wavering shade;
By giant footfalls of my unseen foes.
To Thee, at length, my frighted spirit flies:
Not all the spaces of the Universe,
Whether of matter or immortal Thought,
Hold any hope, or any rest, but Thee:
And Thou art all things to my spacious hope:
Full man unto my weak humanity;
Full Godhead to my yearning deathless soul.
| The Literary Works of James Smetham | |