Let me be still,
And listen to You.
I hear You best in silence,
In the wonder of this place.
Christ, be real to me here
When I find You nowhere else—
In the mountains,
White with snow;
In the howling, biting wind;
In these woods,
Frozen and lonely
And altogether quiet.
I am driven to the endless wild,
To this refuge from my home
And from the company of friends.
Their love is not enough for me;
I need the silence of God’s love.
And here I run—
To this quiet, desperate place,
Which enfolds me for a time,
But only for a time.
I would die here if I stayed too long,
And these trees that welcome me
With whispers of peace
Are neither tame nor safe
For this hard and broken man.
And so it is with You.
You overwhelm me with peace and power,
The gentle violence of Your grace.
I am not strong enough to drink it full;
I merely taste and tremble,
And walk away renewed.
I need this Presence,
Which would kill me if I stayed
And rested ‘neath its crushing weight.
It is too strong, too pure,
Too wild and untamed;
And I, weary with sin,
Would be shattered by its force.
And so I come here,
To be pounded into shape
In this soft and quiet crucible.
I love this place, this air, this peace;
And someday, before my life is spent,
I will learn to dwell within its shadow,
To walk its trails without fear,
And to rest in One who always is
As wild as the woods.