Fecisti nos ad Te et inquietum est cor
nostrum donec requiescat in Te

The City wakes to fever once again,
Breathes up her smoke, and restless lies below,
Thirsty for life and eager of her pain;
See, as the sun goes down
How all the slumbrous town
Tosses her craving fingers to and fro!

The sobbing child that breaks her heart at sin,
The fool self-centred at his solemn play,
The saint that dies without, the knave within,
Each adds a note, and dies;
While all about them rise
The crashing discords of a world’s dismay.

Come, lift thine eyes from out this dark unrest
Beyond the bitter mist of tears and blood!
Above the vivid fury of the west,
With radiance softly keen,
Incredibly serene,
A star swims high above the phantom flood,

Till in an ordered glory, star by star,
Leaps into life the wonder of the sky
And in dark vaults, immeasurably far,
The splendour spreads and breaks,
And all wide heaven awakes
And earth’s disorders and her tumults die.

Come, lift thine eyes from that disordered heart —
Pities and passions, half-born treacheries,
Follies and sudden prudence — come apart
And watch the dark unfold
Her myriad gates of gold
Till all thy wailing into wonder dies

So to the soul that, weary of her pain,
Looks for her Lord in uttermost despair,
He spreads a vision of Himself again; —
Kindles her ancient creed,
Lightens the dark indeed,
And writes Himself in glory everywhere.

Here throbs a heart that only lives for love,
For warmth and colour, passion and desire,
Cries out for these alone: — and, lo above,
Opens a vision dim —
Wide Arms that yearn for him,
Eyes full of longing and a Heart of fire.

Here dwells a subtle mind that seeks to trace
In line on line a symmetry and plan,
To mark degrees of glory and of grace
And, lo, all wisdom lies
Within the tranquil Eyes
Of that Incarnate Word that dwelt with man.

Here lives a soul that kindles at a tale
Of noble deeds and daring, fair to see,
For very love of fighting glad to fail; —
And, lo, the hard-won throne
Of Him that went alone
To win it, and a crown, on Calvary.

Lo, to the soul that looked for peace on earth,
And lost her yearning with the barren years,
There dawns the Star that lit the Saviour’s Birth —
Broadens, until four-square,
Gem-built and jewelled fair,
As once to John, the Peace of God appears.

Nay, but the veriest sinner in his sin
Seeks but to clasp the life he knows is there,
Driv’n reckless by the power of God within
Yet he may rise and gain
Some harvest of his pain,
As Peter rose to pardon through despair.

Ah, God is good, Who writes His glory plain
Above thee, and about thee at thy side, —
Bids thee look upward from that blinding pain,
And, ere thy longing tires,
Kindles His sudden fires.
Look, and let all thy soul be satisfied!