Reticence Poem by Peter McArthur

We may not babble unto alien ears
The truth revealed, nor show to heedless eyes
The visioned beauty, lest with shame and tears
We mourn our folly—and with futile sighs.
For words are weak, and every form of sense
Wherewith in Time we tell our hopes and needs.
To do aright is to have recompense,
And highest thought is ever told in deeds;
And He, upon whose mighty arm we lean,
Is silent, save in works of love and power—
Most Merciful, enthroned in the Unseen,
He tries yet shields us in our mortal hour.
So faint not thou, for He who gave the will
The strength will give, and will Himself fulfil.