A Halt

(Picture found here)

Lie still, my soul, the Sun of Grace

Is warm within this garden space

Beneath tall kindly trees.

The quiet light is green and fair;

A fragrance fills the swooning air;

Lie still, and take thine ease.

This silent noon of Jesu's love

Is warm about thee and above --

A tender Lord is He.

Lie still an hour -- this place is His.

He has a thousand pleasaunces,

And each all fair and fragrant is,

And each is all for thee.

Then, Jesu, for a little space

I rest me in this garden place,

All sweet to scent and sight.

Here, from this high-road scarce withdrawn,

I thrust my hot hands in the lawn

Cool yet with dew of far-off dawn

And saturate with light.

But ah, dear Saviour, human-wise,

I yearn to pierce all mysteries,

To catch Thine Hands, and see Thine Eyes

When evening sounds begin.

There, in Thy white Robe, Thou wilt wait

At dusk beside some orchard gate,

And smile to see me come so late,

And, smiling, call me in.

~Robert Hugh Benson