“OUR FATHER WHICH ART IN HEAVEN.”
By Frances Moore Geiger
Thou art so far! the way all signal lighted
With beacon stars that sure must lead to thee;
Thought follows till she falters, dazed, affrighted,
Alone, alone, amid immensity! Thou art so far! deep in that secret chamber
Wherein life’s still, sweet miracle is wrought;
E’en in the tiny wild flower’s heart of amber
Thy temple is, beyond my subtlest thought. Thou art so far! vainly my spirit hearkens
For reason’s voice the wide abyss to fill;
The silence overwhelms, the distance darkens;
Awestruck, I can but wonder—and be still. Thou art so far! though past my soul’s discerning,
Veiled in thick darkness is thy diadem;
Drawn to thee ever by my heart’s dumb yearning,
I trembling strive to touch thy garment’s hem. And lo, thou art so near! the mists are mellowed
With thine effulgence, shining from above;
And all the dim, dim way grows sweet and hallowed,
Warmed, lighted, glorified, by thy strong love. Thou art so near! As to the little lisper
Who sobs a wish none else may understand,
The mother bends; so thou to my faint whisper,
With ready ear and tender, outstretched hand. Thou art so near! through all my joys and sorrows
Thou leadest, though thy face I may not see;
My yesterdays were thine, and my to-morrows
I leave with thee—I leave them all with thee! —Frances Moore Geiger, in New York Observer.