| THEY say there is a hollow, safe and still, | |
| A point of coolness and repose | |
| Within the centre of a flame, where life might dwell | |
| Unharmed and unconsumed, as in a luminous shell, | |
| Which the bright walls of fire enclose | 5 |
| In breachless splendour, barrier that no foes | |
| Could pass at will. | |
| |
| There is a point of rest | |
| At the great centre of the cyclone’s force, | |
| A silence at its secret source;— | 10 |
| A little child might slumber undistressed, | |
| Without the ruffle of one fairy curl, | |
| In that strange central calm amid the mighty whirl. | |
| So in the centre of these thoughts of God, | |
| Cyclones of power, consuming glory-fire,— | 15 |
| As we fall o’erawed | |
| Upon our faces, and are lifted higher | |
| By His great gentleness, and carried nigher | |
| Than unredeemèd angels, till we stand | |
| Even in the hollow of His hand,— | 20 |
| Nay more! we lean upon His breast— | |
| There, there we find a point of perfect rest | |
| And glorious safety. There we see | |
| His thoughts to us-ward, thoughts of peace | |
| That stoop to tenderest love; that still increase | 25 |
| With increase of our need; that never change, | |
| That never fail, or falter, or forget. | |
| O pity infinite! | |
| O royal mercy free! | |
| O gentle climax of the depth and height | 30 |
| Of God’s most precious thoughts, most wonderful, most strange! | |
| ‘For I am poor and needy, yet | |
| The Lord Himself, Jehovah, thinketh upon me! | |
