SILENT IN LOVE

"He will rest in His love."

Love culminates in bliss when in doth reach
A white, unflickering, fear-consuming glow:
And, knowing it is known as it doth know
Needs no assuring word or soothing speach.
It craves but silent nearness, so to rest,
No sound, no movement, love not heard but felt,
Longer and longer still, till time should melt
A snowflake on the eternal ocean's breast.
Have moments of this silence starred thy past,
Made memory a glory-haunted place,
Taught all the joy that mortal ken can trace?
By greater light 'tis but a shadow cast;-
So shall the Lord thy God rejoice o'er thee,
And in His love shall rest, and silent be.




Frances R. Havergal
Ministry of Song, 1881

And Yet Another Piece of Exquisite Thought

This is one of my favorite pieces of literature by Frances Havergal.

One of the desires of my heart is to "bear a chalice" as is described in the following poem. It's not easy, I'm sure, or something to attain in a short time. It requires immersing oneself in the Word of God, day by day, in sweet meditation and communion with the Master, our Lord Jesus, and then only can we let the fountain of His love and blessings overflow from our soul to refresh that of others in need. I only have to remember the times that someone touched my heart to soothe and comfort it, to wish I could be of blessing in this manner to someone who comes across my way. Enjoy this poem, then, and let it be inspiring to you as it is to me.

The Song Chalice

"You bear the chalice". Is it so, my friend?
Have I indeed a chalice of sweet song,
With underflow of harmony made strong,
New calm of strength through throbbing veins to send?
I did not form nor fill, - I do but spend
That which the Master poured into my soul,
His dewdrops caught in a poor earthen bowl,
That service so with praise might meekly blend.
May He who taught the morning stars to sing,
Aye keep my chalice cool, and pure, and sweet,
And grant me so with loving hand to bring
Refreshment to His weary ones, - to meet
Their thirst with water from God's music-spring;
And, bearing thus, to pour it at His feet.

Frances Ridley Havergal

Motivació - Motivation

Soneto Anónimo

No me mueve, mi Dios, para quererte
el cielo que me tienes prometido;
ni me mueve el infierno tan temido
para dejar por eso de ofenderte.

Tú me mueves, Señor; muéveme el verte
clavado en una cruz y escarnecido;
muéveme ver tu cuerpo tan herido;
muévenme tus afrentas y tu muerte.

Muéveme, en fin, tu amor, y en tal manera
que aunque no hubiera cielo, yo te amara,
y aunque no hubiera infierno, te temiera.

No tienes que me dar porque te quiera,
pues aunque cuanto espero no esperara,
lo mismo que te quiero te quisiera.

I am not moved, my God, to give you love
by thoughts of heaven that you've promised me;
nor am I moved by thoughts of dreaded hell
for that alone, to cease offending thee.

You are what moves me, Lord; I'm moved to see
you on a cross and mocked with every breath;
I'm moved to see your body racked with wounds;
I'm moved by your affronts and by your death.

I'm moved, in sum, by love from you so great
that I would love you were not heaven there,
and I would fear you, if there were no hell.

You need give me no prize to love you thus,
for even if what I hope I hoped not,
as I now love you I would love you still.

(©Alix Ingber, 1995)

HE LEADETH ME

We can truly say that the Lord has been leading us, these last months, through pastures green and still waters... This poem, nevertheless, reminds us that even "though the path be rough and rugged, though the trail be dark and steep, still the gentle Shepherd watches o're His sheep..." This has been a comfort and encouragement to me at times when the path has indeed been rugged, and I hope you will be blessed by it as well, and pass it on.

HE LEADETH ME
"In pastures green?" - Not always. Sometimes
He, who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways, where heavy shadows be;
Out of the sunshine warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine into the darkest night;
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright
Only for this - I know He holds my hand;
So whether led in green or desert land
I trust, although I may not understand.

"And by still waters"? - No, not always so.
Oftimes the heavy tempests round me blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storm beats loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,
And whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I!"
Above the tempest wild I hear Him say
"Beyond the darkness lies the perfect day;
In every path of thine I lead the way."

So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair
I dwell, or in the sunless valleys where
The shadows lie, - what matter? He is there;
And more than this: where'er the pathway
Lead He gives to me no helpless broken reed,
But His own hand, sufficient for my need.
So where He leadeth I can safely go;
And in the blest hereafter I shall know
Why, in His wisdom, He hath led me so.

Anonymous

This blog entry is dedicated to "la fille de la mer"...

SEA FEVER

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sails shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip's over.

John Masefield

Poem by F.R. Havergal

Please read on to the end... it is well worth it. Beautifully expressed, beautiful truths that are a solace to the heart and a balm to the spirit. Enjoy.

COMPENSATION

Oh, the compensating springs! Oh, the balance-wheels of life,
Hidden away in the workings under the seeming strife!
Slowing the fret and the friction, weighting the whirl and the force,
Evolving the truest power from each unconscious source.

How shall we gauge the whole, who can only guess a part?
How can we read the life, when we cannot spell the heart?
How shall we measure another, we who can never know
From the juttings above the surface the depth of the vein below?

Even our present way is known to ourselves alone,
Height and abyss and torrent, flower and thorn and stone;
But we gaze on another's path as a far-off mountain scene,
Scanning the outlined hills, but never the vales between.

How shall we judge their present, we who have never seen
That which is past for ever, and that which might have been?
Measuring by ourselves, unwise indeed are we,
Measuring what we know by what we can hardly see.

Ah! if we knew it all, we should surely understand
That the balance of sorrow and joy is held with an even hand;
That the scale of success or loss shall never overflow,
And that compensation is twined with the lot of high and low.

The easy path in the lowland hath little of grand or new,
But a toilsome ascent leads on to a wide and glorious view;
Peopled and warm is the valley, lonely and chill the height,
But the peak that is nearer the storm-cloud is nearer the stars of light.

Launch on the foaming stream that bears you along like a dart, –
There is danger of rapid and rock, there is tension of muscle and heart;
Glide on the easy current, monotonous, calm, and slow.
You are spared the quiver and strain in the safe and quiet flow.

Oh, the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,
While each, all vocal with love, in tuneful harmony rings!
But oh, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,
Tensionless, broken, or lost, from the cherished instrument.

For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,
And the hand that takes the crown must ache with many a cross;
Yet he who hath never a conflict hath never a victor's palm,
And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.

Only between the storms can the Alpine traveler know
Transcendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;
Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,
This had been dimmed by the dust and the veil of a brooding haze.

Who would dare the choice, neither or both to know,
The finest quiver of joy or the agony-thrill of woe?
Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,
For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.

Great is the peril or toil if the glory or gain be great;
Never an earthly gift without responsible weight;
Never a treasure without-a following shade of care;
Never a power without the lurk of a subtle snare.

For the swift is not the safe, and the sweet is not the strong;
The smooth is not the short, and the keen is not the long;
The much is not the most, and the wide is not the deep;
And the flow is never a spring, when the ebb is only neap.

Then hush! oh, hush! for the Father knows what thou knowest not,
The need and the thorn and the shadow linked with the fairest lot;
Knows the wisest exemption from many an unseen snare,
Knows what will keep thee nearest, knows what thou could'st not bear.

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father portioneth as He will
To all his beloved children, and shall they not be still?
Is not his will the wisest, is not his choice the best?
And in perfect acquiescence is there not perfect rest?

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father, whose ways are true and just,
Knoweth and careth and loveth, and waits for thy perfect trust;
The cup he is slowly filling shall soon be full to the brim,
And infinite compensations forever be found in him.

Hush, oh, hush! for the Father hath fullness of joy in store,
Treasures of power and wisdom, and pleasures for ever­ more;
Blessing and honor and glory, endless, infinite bliss; –
Child of his love and his choice, oh, cant thou not wait for this?

Frances Ridley Havergal