Rest (Mason)

A rest remaineth; is then rest so good? The hope of weariness, a promise sweet To labouring souls, but wherefore rest in Heaven?

Deeper than any thought of man, Sweeter than any dream of man, Fuller than any hope of man, To conceive which hath not entered Into any heart of man.

As the sunny air to the life of a bird, As the fair sea to the way of a ship, As brooding sleep to the life of a babe, So the infinite, unutterable rest of God To those blest souls that are upborne thereon.

The rest we plan, Wherein to lay us down when labours end, Is other in its kind : feelings, thoughts, In burdens left behind, and chief of all, In the dear face of God, we place our rest.

But rest, the pure element, As God hath made, as He hath made the air, Encompassing, conditionless and free, That each blest life, unconscious, lives within, This enters not our thought.

Once in a life, perhaps (nor then to all!)- When in extreme strait a hopeless soul Lies down beneath its burden - heaven's gate opes And that soul for one supernal moment Is taken in and steeped and bathed in rest.

Thus was it once : A feeble body and a brain o'er fraught With many thoughts and cares ; a desolate heart, Brooding o'er empty places in the earth Not to be filled again. Life was too much : The fainting body and more languid soul Made plaint, for voice too feeble, Lord how long?

And then it came, The revelation of the infinite Eternal rest of God. It came : but how to tell of it! - As well give features and a form To sunshine hallow'd 'neath the charm That quiets summer sabbaths.

It came, but not with words, too worn the heart For any sound of words, tho' words of life : With the sweet comprehending of a touch That knew and pitied and was strong to help, E'en so came quieting from the hand of God : And the heart lay still And ceased from itself : Nor purpose, prayer, nor penitence was there, Not praise nor love found place, but a great rest.

A rest that steeped that soul and bore it up And circled it and shadow'd : only rest : Not knowing, having, being, aught : Yet life nor love had ever after brought So full a draught.

And as that soul lay still, For hours perhaps, or moments - lo there came A writing on the wall of its hid room ; The words appeared - As one is comforted, Whom comforteth his mother! So, for aye, That soul doth wot of one good thing prepared Of God for them that love Him.