Many a voice has echoed the cry for "a lull in life,"
Fainting under the noontide, fainting under the strife.

To W. P. Sherwin

Many a voice has echoed the cry for "a lull in life,"
Fainting under the noontide, fainting under the strife.
Is it the wisest longing?  is it the truest gain?
Is not the Master withholding possible loss and pain?

Perhaps, if He sent the lull, we might fail of our heart's desire!
Swift and sharp the concussion striking out living fire;
Mighty and long the friction resulting in living glow,
Heat that is force of the spirit, energy fruitful in flow.

What if the blast should falter?  what if the fire be stilled?
What if the molten metal cool ere the mould be filled?
What if the hands hang down when a work is almost done?
What if the sword be dropped when a battle is almost won?

Past many an unseen Maelstrom the strong wind drives the skiff,
When a lull might drift it onward to fatal swirl or cliff.
Faithful the guide who spurreth, sternly forbidding repose,
When treacherous slumber lureth to pause amid Alpine snows.

The lull of Time may be darkness, falling in lonely night,
But the lull of Eternity neareth, rising in full, calm light:
The earthly lull may be silence, desolate, deep, and cold,
But the heavenly lull shall be made, sweeter a thousandfold.

Here it is "calling apart," and the place may be desert indeed.
Leaving and losing the blessings linked with our busy need.
There!  why should I say it?  hath not the heart leapt up,
Swift and glad, to the contrast, filling the full, full cup!

Still shall the key-word, ringing, echo the same sweet "Come!"
"Come" with the blessed myriads, safe in the Father's home;
"Come," for the work is over;  "Come," for the feast is spread;
"Come," for the crown of glory waits for the weary head.

When the rest of faith is ended, and the rest of hope is past,
The rest of love remaineth, Sabbath of life, at last.
No more fleeting hours, hurrying down the day,
But golden stillness of glory, never to pass away.

Time, with its pressure of moments, mocking us as they fell,
With relentless beat of a footstep, hour by hour, the knell
Of a hope or an aspiration, then shall have passed away,
Leaving a grand, calm leisure, leisure of endless day.

Leisure that cannot be dimmed by the touch of time or place;
Finding its counterpart measure only in infinite space:
Full, and yet ever filling; leisure without alloy,
Eternity's seal on the limitless charter of heavenly joy.

Leisure to fathom the fathomless, leisure to seek and to know
Marvels and secrets and glories Eternity only can show;
Leisure of holiest gladness, leisure of holiest love,
Leisure to drink from the Fountain of infinite peace above.

Art thou patiently toiling, waiting the Master's will,
For a rest that seems never nearer, a hush that is far off still?
Does it seem that the noisy city never will let thee hear
The sound of His gentle footsteps, drawing, it may be, near?

Does it seem that the blinding dazzle of noonday glare and heat
Is a fiery veil between thy heart and visions high and sweet?
What though a lull in life may never be made for thee,
Soon shall a "better thing" be thine, the Lull of Eternity!

~ Frances Ridley Havergal

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