Gray clouds my heaven have covered o'er; <br />My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow; <br />Ghastly and dry, my desert shore <br />Parched, bare, unsightly things doth show. <br /> <br />'Tis thou, Lord, cloudest up my sky; <br />Stillest the heart-throb of my sea; <br />Tellest the sad wind not to sigh, <br />Yea, life itself to wait for thee! <br /> <br />Lord, here I am, empty enough! <br />My music but a soundless moan! <br />Blind hope, of all my household stuff, <br />Leaves me, blind hope, not quite alone! <br /> <br />Shall hope too go, that I may trust <br />Purely in thee, and spite of all? <br />Then turn my very heart to dust- <br />On thee, on thee, I yet will call. <br /> <br />List! list! his wind among the pines <br />Hark! hark! that rushing is his sea's! <br />O Father, these are but thy signs!- <br />For thee I hunger, not for these! <br /> <br />Not joy itself, though pure and high- <br />No gift will do instead of thee! <br />Let but my spirit know thee nigh, <br />And all the world may sleep for me!<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-not-gift/
