 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
117
April 4 THANKS-LIVING
“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but
with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee.”—
Isa. liv. 8.
Father, I thank Thee that the cloud
When reached becomes an open gate
For mightier motions, and the shroud
With these is incommensurate;
That time is just the varied web
Whereof I weave a vesture fit,
Which though its earthly portion ebb
Shall mingle with the Infinite.
When reached becomes an open gate
For mightier motions, and the shroud
With these is incommensurate;
That time is just the varied web
Whereof I weave a vesture fit,
Which though its earthly portion ebb
Shall mingle with the Infinite.
I thank Thee that in no event
And no attainment ever won,
I may achieve a true content
Or feel my endless work is done;
That I must gaze with loftier look
At each new turn on something more,
And still turn pages in the book
Of blessing and its heavenly lore.
And no attainment ever won,
I may achieve a true content
Or feel my endless work is done;
That I must gaze with loftier look
At each new turn on something more,
And still turn pages in the book
Of blessing and its heavenly lore.
I thank Thee for the friendly thorn
Which now forbids my heart to rest
In lesser light than perfect morn,
Which is the sunshine of Thy Breast;
That whatsoe'er befalls the flesh
Faith can be fettered by no bond,
Or faileth to be born afresh
And find far higher heavens beyond.
Which now forbids my heart to rest
In lesser light than perfect morn,
Which is the sunshine of Thy Breast;
That whatsoe'er befalls the flesh
Faith can be fettered by no bond,
Or faileth to be born afresh
And find far higher heavens beyond.
| The Prisoner of Love | |