So Much, Lord!

This hour I wake, O Lord,
Before the dawn awakens me,
Considering the years of my life
And the vast vista You have opened
To my astounded eyes.
So much, O Lord, You have revealed
Of temporal and eternal mysteries,
So wide a scope of all Your Being
And of Your Son, the King of Kings,
That I sink beneath its glorious weight
And, trembling with this knowledge,
Despair of coping with such wisdom.
This is too much for me.
Like Job of old Your metanoia comes
And makes me simple, humbles me
To live within the wonder of it all.
 
You know, dear Lord, the mystery
Has gripped me since my natal eyes
First saw this world of Yours—
This vast creation of Your heart and will—
And somehow sensed Your plan for it
And all Your Family. Expanding time
Encapsulates creative wisdom
That makes all things celestial and terrestrial
And places at the heart of it
Your own beloved elect, dear family
To occupy eternity as kings and priests,
To serve and worship for ever.
Within this quiet and solemn hour
I sense the amazing gift
Of all the truth my soul can take,
My mind can contemplate
And heart in trembling can receive.
The miser ponders day and night
The treasury that’s his. I ruminate
On things eternal but I do not fear
To lose such treasure as a miser might
Through fear and death’s despair.
 
Forgive me, Lord, the dreams I had
Of telling all to fellow man
And to the vast following
Of Father Adam. I surely thought
They must have pondered also in the womb
And in the newness of the natal day
The things of You, and of Your Son
And of the Spirit—Lord of life—
And Your deep holiness
That purifies the dross of soul
And gives us eyes to see You whole
And face you in this misery
That we have made through sin,
Through primal spurning of Your gifts
And splendid glory innate made
To fit us for eternity.
 
Slow comes the dawn to me
Who restless am with all this truth.
I know a fragment of Your pain
As You reveal Yourself to us
Who will to only dimly see
And scarcely bear to hear
Celestial worship in the holy sphere
And do not care
To glimpse a sight of Thee.
My heart bows down to you
In given gratitude for sight bestowed
And love made known
As boundless mystery.

From All Things of the Spirit, by Geoffrey C. Bingham, pp. 138-9