“PEACE.”
BY FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.
Is this the
peace of God, this strange, sweet calm?
The weary day is at its zenith
still,
Yet ‘tis as if beside some cool,
clear rill
Through shadowy stillness rose evening
psalm,
And all the
noise of life were hushed away,
And tranquil
gladness reigned with gently soothing sway.
It was not so just now. I turned aside
With aching head, and heart mostly
sorely bowed;
Around me cares and grief’s in crushing
crowd;
While inly rose the sense, in swelling tide,
Of weakness, insufficiency
and sin,
And fear and
gloom and bout in mighty flood rolled in.
That rushing flood I had no power to meet,
Nor strength to flee: my present,
future, past,
Myself, my sorrow, and my sin, I cast
In utter helplessness at Jesus’ feet:
Then bent
before the storm, if such His will.
He saw the
winds and waves, and whispered “Peace, be still!”
And there was calm! O Saviour, I have proved
That Thou to help and save art really near;
How else this quiet rest from grief
and fear,
And all distress The cross is not removed,
I must go
forth to bear it as before,
But leaning
on Thine arm, I dread its weight no more.
Is it indeed Thy peace? I have not tried
To analyze my faith, dissect my
trust,
Or measure if belief be full and
just,
And therefore
claim Thy peace. But Thou hast died,
I know that
this is true, and true for me,
And, knowing
it, I come and cast my all on Thee.
It is not that I feel less weak, but Thou
Wilt be my strength,-it is not that
I see
Less sin, but more of pardoning love
in Thee,
And all-sufficient grace. Enough! And now
All
fluttering thought is stilled; I only rest,
And feel that
Thou art nearer, and know that I am blessed.
-From “Thy Ministry of Song.”
