THE TERESIAN CONTEMPLATIVE
By Robert Hugh Benson
She moves in tumult; round her liesThe silence of the world of grace;The twilight of our mysteriesShines like high noonday on her face;Our piteous guesses, dim with fears,She touches, handles, sees, and hears.In her all longings mix and meet;Dumb souls through her are eloquent;She feels the world beneath her feetThrill in a passionate intent;Through her our tides of feeling rollAnd find their God within her soul.Her faith and awful Face of GodBrightens and blinds with utter light;Her footsteps fall where late He trod;She sinks in roaring voids of night;Cries to her Lord in black despair,And knows, yet knows not, He is there.A willing sacrifice she takesThe burden of our fall within;Holy she stands; while on her breaksThe lightning of the wrath of sin;She drinks her Saviour’s cup of pain,And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.
She moves in tumult; round her liesThe silence of the world of grace;The twilight of our mysteriesShines like high noonday on her face;Our piteous guesses, dim with fears,She touches, handles, sees, and hears.In her all longings mix and meet;Dumb souls through her are eloquent;She feels the world beneath her feetThrill in a passionate intent;Through her our tides of feeling rollAnd find their God within her soul.Her faith and awful Face of GodBrightens and blinds with utter light;Her footsteps fall where late He trod;She sinks in roaring voids of night;Cries to her Lord in black despair,And knows, yet knows not, He is there.A willing sacrifice she takesThe burden of our fall within;Holy she stands; while on her breaksThe lightning of the wrath of sin;She drinks her Saviour’s cup of pain,And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.
She moves in tumult; round her liesThe silence of the world of grace;The twilight of our mysteriesShines like high noonday on her face;Our piteous guesses, dim with fears,She touches, handles, sees, and hears.
She moves in tumult; round her lies
The silence of the world of grace;
The twilight of our mysteries
Shines like high noonday on her face;
Our piteous guesses, dim with fears,
She touches, handles, sees, and hears.
In her all longings mix and meet;Dumb souls through her are eloquent;She feels the world beneath her feetThrill in a passionate intent;Through her our tides of feeling rollAnd find their God within her soul.
In her all longings mix and meet;
Dumb souls through her are eloquent;
She feels the world beneath her feet
Thrill in a passionate intent;
Through her our tides of feeling roll
And find their God within her soul.
Her faith and awful Face of GodBrightens and blinds with utter light;Her footsteps fall where late He trod;She sinks in roaring voids of night;Cries to her Lord in black despair,And knows, yet knows not, He is there.
Her faith and awful Face of God
Brightens and blinds with utter light;
Her footsteps fall where late He trod;
She sinks in roaring voids of night;
Cries to her Lord in black despair,
And knows, yet knows not, He is there.
A willing sacrifice she takesThe burden of our fall within;Holy she stands; while on her breaksThe lightning of the wrath of sin;She drinks her Saviour’s cup of pain,And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.
A willing sacrifice she takes
The burden of our fall within;
Holy she stands; while on her breaks
The lightning of the wrath of sin;
She drinks her Saviour’s cup of pain,
And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.