| SHE moves in tumult; round her lies | |
| The silence of the world of grace; | |
| The twilight of our mysteries | |
| Shines like high noonday on her face; | |
| Our piteous guesses, dim with fears, | 5 |
| She touches, handles, sees, and hears. | |
| |
| In her all longings mix and meet; | |
| Dumb souls through her are eloquent; | |
| She feels the world beneath her feet | |
| Thrill in a passionate intent; | 10 |
| Through her our tides of feeling roll | |
| And find their God within her soul. | |
| |
| Her faith the awful Face of God | |
| Brightens and blinds with utter light; | |
| Her footsteps fall where late He trod; | 15 |
| She sinks in roaring voids of night; | |
| Cries to her Lord in black despair, | |
| And knows, yet knows not, He is there. | |
| |
| A willing sacrifice she takes | |
| The burden of our fall within; | 20 |
| Holy she stands; while on her breaks | |
| The lightning of the wrath of sin; | |
| She drinks her Saviour’s cup of pain, | |
| And, one with Jesus, thirsts again. | |
