THE TERESIAN CONTEMPLATIVE
by: Robert Hugh Benson
(1871-1914)
- HE 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 feet
- Thrill in a passionate intent;
- Through her our tides of feeling roll
- And find their God within her soul.
-
- Her faith the 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 takes
- The burden of our fall within;
- Holy she stands; while on her breaks
- The lightning of the wrath of sin;
- She drinks her Saviours cup of pain,
- And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.
"The Teresian Contemplative"
is reprinted from The Oxford book of English mystical verse.
Ed. D.H.S. Nicholson. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1917. |
MORE POEMS BY ROBERT HUGH BENSON |
|