O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, <br />I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; <br />If through the darkness, as in bed I lay, <br />But once had come a hand upon my face; <br /> <br />If but one sign that might not be mistook <br />Had ever been, since first thy face I sought, <br />I should not now be doubting o'er a book, <br />But serving thee with burning heart and thought. <br /> <br />So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, <br />Turning my face to front the dark and wind: <br />Such signs had only barred anew his way <br />Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered mind. <br /> <br />They asked the very Way, where lies the way? <br />The very Son, where is the Father's face? <br />How he could show himself, if not in clay, <br />Who was the lord of spirit, form, and space! <br /> <br />My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole <br />Until thou come behind mine ears and eyes, <br />Enter and fill the temple of my soul <br />With perfect contact-such a sweet surprise, <br /> <br />Such presence as, before it met the view, <br />The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, <br />Though every corner of the temple knew <br />By very emptiness its need of thee. <br /> <br />When I keep <br />all <br />thy words, no favoured some, <br />Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's tide, <br />Then, Jesus, thou wilt with thy father come- <br />Oh, ended prayers!-and in my soul abide. <br /> <br />Ah, long delay! ah, cunning, creeping sin! <br />I shall but fail, and cease at length to try: <br />O Jesus, though thou wilt not yet come in, <br />Knock at my window as thou passest by!<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-sign/
