This morning I was listening to Sinclair Ferguson preach on the fear of the Lord, and heard him read this lovely poem by F. W. Faber:
My fear of Thee, O Lord, exults
Like life within my veins,
A fear which tightly claims to be
One of love's sacred pains.
There is no joy the soul can meet
Upon life's various road
Like the sweet fear that sits and shrinks
Under the eye of God.
Oh, Thou art greatly to be feared,
Thou art so prompt to bless!
The dread to miss such love as Thine
Makes fear but love's excess.
But fear is love, and love is fear,
And in and out they move;
But fear is an intenser joy
Than mere unfrightened love.
They love Thee little, if at all,—F. W. Faber
Who do not fear Thee much;
If love is Thine attraction, Lord!
Fear is Thy very touch.The Chaseur in the Forest
Caspar David Friedrich