25.
Lord, let my soul o'erburdened then feel thee Thrilling through all its brain's stupidity. If I must slumber, heedless of ill harms, Let it not be but in my Father's arms; Outside the shelter of his garment's fold, All is a waste, a terror-haunted wold.-- Lord, keep me. 'Tis thy child that cries. Behold.
26.
Some say that thou their endless love host won By deeds for them which I may not believe Thou ever didst, or ever willedst done: What matter, so they love thee? They receive Eternal more than the poor loom and wheel Of their invention ever wove and spun.-- I love thee for I must, thine all from head to heel.
27.
The love of thee will set all notions right. Right save by love no thought can be or may; Only love's knowledge is the primal light. Questions keep camp along love's shining coast-- Challenge my love and would my entrance stay: Across the buzzing, doubting, challenging host, I rush to thee, and cling, and cry--Thou know'st.
28.
Oh, let me live in thy realities, Nor substitute my notions for thy facts, Notion with notion making leagues and pacts; They are to truth but as dream-deeds to acts, And questioned, make me doubt of everything.-- "O Lord, my God," my heart gets up and cries, "Come thy own self, and with thee my faith bring."
29.
O master, my desires to work, to know, To be aware that I do live and grow-- All restless wish for anything not thee, I yield, and on thy altar offer me. Let me no more from out thy presence go, But keep me waiting watchful for thy will-- Even while I do it, waiting watchful still.
30.
Thou art the Lord of life, the secret thing. Thou wilt give endless more than I could find, Even if without thee I could go and seek; For thou art one, Christ, with my deepest mind, Duty alive, self-willed, in me dost speak, And to a deeper purer being sting: I come to thee, my life, my causing kind.
31.
Nothing is alien in thy world immense-- No look of sky or earth or man or beast; "In the great hand of God I stand, and thence" Look out on life, his endless, holy feast. To try to feel is but to court despair, To dig for a sun within a garden-fence: Who does thy will, O God, he lives upon thy air.