S. Paul
So, even I, athirst for His inspiring, I, who have talked with Him, forget again; Yes, many days with sobs and with desiring, Offer to God a patience and a pain.
Then through the mid complaint of my confession, Then through the pang and passion of my prayer, Leaps with a start the shock of His possession, Thrills me and touches, and the Lord is there.
Lo, if some pen should write upon your rafter Mene and Mene in the folds of flame, Think ye could any memories thereafter Wholly retrace the couplet as it came?
Lo, if some strange intelligible thunder Sang to the earth the secret of a star, Scarce should ye catch, for terror and for wonder, Shreds of the story that was pealed so far! Scarcely I catch the words of His revealing, Hardly I hear Him, dimly understand.
Only the power that is within me pealing Lives on my lips, and beckons to my hand. Whoso hath felt the Spirit of the Highest Cannot confound, nor doubt Him, nor deny; Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest, Stand thou on that side, for on this am I.
Rather the world shall doubt when her retrieving Pours in the rain and rushes from the sod; Rather than he in whom the great conceiving Stirs in his soul to quicken into God.
Nay, though thou then shouldst strike him from his glory, Blind and tormented, maddened and alone, E’en on the cross would he maintain his story, Yes, and in Hell would whisper, “I have known.”
– Frederick Myers
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