Poems (Hale)/The one hundred thirty-ninth Psalm

by Mary Whitwell Hale

PARAPHRASE OF THE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINTH PSALM.

 O thou Eternal Source of every good!
Whose eye surveys creation's utmost bound,
Whose piercing glance my secret soul can read,
And mark the errors that are lurking there,
How shall I seek Thy face, how raise to Thee
The imperfect thoughts by worldly care debased?
How purify those thoughts, and make them meet
With Thee, Supreme Perfection, to commune?
Nothing is from Thy searching glances hid;
And ere my thoughts are known unto myself,
Thou, God, canst understand each secret wish,
Each aspiration for eternal truth,
Each groveling hope to earthly things confined.

 How can imperfect mortals comprehend
Eternal Wisdom? How can sinful man
Aspire to hold communion with the God
Most Mighty and Most Good? Vainly our minds
Desire to penetrate Thy Wisdom's spring,
Hidden from mortal eye, but clear and bright
To Him who first created earth and heaven.
Our minds, though heaven-illumined, cannot grasp
Such knowledge. I would flee thy presence dread,
And seek a spot to Thy pure gaze unknown.

 I may not enter heaven; for there thy glance
Would overwhelm my spirit. Could I bear
That eye, whose light would pierce my inmost soul?
And should I make my bed where spirits dark
Dwell in the silence of the under world,
There, too, Thine eye would see my face, and there
The glance of Thy displeasure would upbraid
The heartless, cold ingratitude of one
Who gave Thee not devotion's fervent prayer,
Rich incense rising from a grateful heart,—
A heart which glowed with an immortal flame,
A temple meet for Thee.

      Or should I seek,
Upon the wings of morn, the ocean depths,
Behold, Thy piercing glance looks there,—a glance
Undimmed by the destructive flight of time:
Thy hand would guide me through its mazy depths.
Should I desire the shielding veil of night,
Thine eye could penetrate its shadowy folds.
All, all is clear to Thee. Is not the night
The same as day to thy unclouded eye?

 Let me not flee thy presence. Let me seek
Nearer and dearer intercourse with Him
Whose word created me. Great are Thy works,
And in the fulness of Thy boundless power,
Thou raisedst me from dust. Upon my soul
Thine own immortal image didst Thou stamp,
And give me power to fit that soul to dwell
Forever in Thy sight.

      Precious to me, O God!
The gracious promises Thy word reveals;
Precious the hope of everlasting life,
A vast eternity passed near to Thee.
There shall no clouds of sin my sight obstruct,
Nor mist of error veil thy face from me:
There shall I see that face, there taste the bliss,
The joys of heaven. Father! enthroned on high!
O! search my heart. Hush each unholy thought.
Quell the fierce storm of anger. Make my soul
Humble and grateful to its Gracious Source.
Fill it with holy hope and perfect faith
In Thy decrees. Let no repining thought
Escape the lips enkindled at Thy shrine,
With the pure flame of love. Let perfect love,
Greater than hope or faith, my bosom fill,—
Love for the-human race.

      And O! when death
Shall set his icy seal upon my brow,
And earth, with all its scenes, fades from my view,
Grant me Thy changeless light, the light of truth,
That points my soul to realms of endless day.
There shall that soul, from earthly care set free,
Breathe forth to Thee its speechless gratitude.