As the hart panteth after the water brooks,
so panteth my soul after Thee, O God.
My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God:
when shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my meat day and night,
while they continually say unto me, “Where is thy God?”
Behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice (1 Kings 19.11b-12)
O God, my God, for Thee, I call!
Nay, I cry!
Then, waiting and waiting again,
but hearing not Thy voice nor beholding Thy face
(tho’, by faith, trusting still in Thine Existence, thus, beseeching, “Why?”)
I, despairing only, my words failing,
canst but sigh aloud for Thee;
pleading that Thou wouldst speak, aye, appear unto me.
For in perplexity’s hour,
times, these times of tempest and trouble,
when the winds of this world’s woes tear my heart with fear,
when the ground quakes, splitting apart ‘neath my trembling feet,
the stability of my courage, a scant memory of a distant day in the life
(whether mine own, but long gone
or from some vaguely recalled tale of another’s nobility oft I wished ‘twas mine),
I hath greatest need of Thy surest Presence and Power.
Where, O God, my God, art Thou?
when (only when), breathless, my calls, my cries, my sighs fall silent,
can I hear Thy still, small voice of Love
bidding, beckoning me to retreat from all before my face
to enter that place within of the beginning,
where Thou, Being e’en before the Beginning,
thus, where I do face Thou Who hast abideth alway.