The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 30
LOVE IS DEAD |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
111
March 30 LOVE IS DEAD
“Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again.”—
Rom. viii. 34.
I heard a weeping at the fountains,
I heard a wailing on the mountains—
A murmur over sea and shore,
A Voice that said
“Great Love is dead
And we must mourn for evermore.”
There was a shadow on the sky,
On rock and river
An awful shiver—
Earth shook in her mortality.
And, through the world, a rolling wave
Of grief was felt in every grave.
I heard a wailing on the mountains—
A murmur over sea and shore,
A Voice that said
“Great Love is dead
And we must mourn for evermore.”
There was a shadow on the sky,
On rock and river
An awful shiver—
Earth shook in her mortality.
And, through the world, a rolling wave
Of grief was felt in every grave.
I heard a voice, I saw a vision—
A Calvary, and cold derision
Mocking a Form that hung and hangs
For ever there,
And everywhere
While Christ must bear His people's pangs.
I saw that Love had veiled His Head
In utter anguish,
And low did languish—
I thought that love was really dead.
The sun forgot that it was day,
And heaven in ghostly sackcloth lay.
A Calvary, and cold derision
Mocking a Form that hung and hangs
For ever there,
And everywhere
While Christ must bear His people's pangs.
I saw that Love had veiled His Head
In utter anguish,
And low did languish—
I thought that love was really dead.
The sun forgot that it was day,
And heaven in ghostly sackcloth lay.
| The Prisoner of Love | |