‘Verily Thou art a God that hidest Thyself.’ -Isaiah xlv. 15

God, though to Thee our psalm we raise


No answering voice comes from the skies;


To Thee the trembling sinner prays

But no forgiving voice replies;

Our prayer seems lost in desert ways,

Our hymn in the vast silence dies.

We see the glories of the earth

But not the hand that wrought them all:

Night to a myriad worlds gives birth,

Yet like a lighted empty hall

Where stands no host at door or hearth

Vacant creation’s lamps appal.

We guess; we clothe Thee, unseen King,

With attributes we deem are meet;

Each in in his own imagining


Sets up a shadow in Thy seat;

Yet know not how our gifts to bring,


Where seek Thee with unsandalled feet.

And still th’unbroken silence broods

While ages and while aeons run,

As erst upon chaotic floods

The Spirit hovered ere the sun

Had called the seasons’ changeful moods

And life’s first germs from death had won.

And still th’abysses infinite

Surround the peak from which we gaze.


Deep calls to deep, and blackest night


Giddies the soul with blinding daze

That dares to cast its searching sight


On being’s dread and vacant maze.

And Thou art silent, whilst Thy world

Contends about its many creeds

And hosts confront with flags unfurled

And zeal is flushed and pity bleeds


And truth is heard, with tears impearled,


A moaning voice among the reeds.

My hand upon my lips I lay;


The breast’s desponding sob I quell;


I move along life’s tomb-decked way

And listen to the passing bell

Summoning men from speechless day

To death’s more silent, darker spell.

Oh! till Thou givest that sense beyond,

To shew Thee that Thou art, and near,

Let patience with her chastening wand

And lead me child-like by the hand


If still in darkness not in fear,

Dispel the doubt and dry the tear.

Speak! whisper to my watching heart


One word-as when a mother speaks

Soft, when she sees her infant start,

Till dimpled joy steals o’er its cheeks.

Then, to behold Thee as Thou art,


I’ll wait till morn eternal breaks.

nondum, by gerard manley hopkins.

this may be my best, maybe my only answer to this.