One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH. |
 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH.
“Master, where dwellest Thou?”
From many a plenish'd home
They sweetly echo now,
The early quest, the early cry,
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
Where, Master art Thou found?
For we would walk with Thee;”
Yet little heed the answer gains,
Blest answer, “Come and see.”
They sweetly echo now,
The early quest, the early cry,
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
Where, Master art Thou found?
For we would walk with Thee;”
Yet little heed the answer gains,
Blest answer, “Come and see.”
Where didst Thou dwell of old?
Oft in a sordid shed;
The poor did have Thy household talk,
And earn with Thee their bread;
But some that are Thy rich
Oft seek Thee now, and fail;
They climb to meet Thee on the height,
When Thou art in the vale.
Oft in a sordid shed;
The poor did have Thy household talk,
And earn with Thee their bread;
But some that are Thy rich
Oft seek Thee now, and fail;
They climb to meet Thee on the height,
When Thou art in the vale.
140
We will subdue the proud,
The great, for His renown,
“We will go up,” they cry, “for Him,”
But no, they shall go down
Among the lost, the low;
There shall He best be seen,
Who, when He touch'd the leper's hand,
Became with him unclean.
The great, for His renown,
“We will go up,” they cry, “for Him,”
But no, they shall go down
Among the lost, the low;
There shall He best be seen,
Who, when He touch'd the leper's hand,
Became with him unclean.
Master, Thy words are dark;
Life yet her secret holds,
The mysteries of a mourning world
No voice from Thee unfolds;
Thou openest doors in heaven,
But earth with tears is wet;
Scant bread and bitter eat the poor,
The slave lies fetter'd yet.
Life yet her secret holds,
The mysteries of a mourning world
No voice from Thee unfolds;
Thou openest doors in heaven,
But earth with tears is wet;
Scant bread and bitter eat the poor,
The slave lies fetter'd yet.
He saith, “I am not dark
To them of base estate,
The simple, in his simpleness,
Reads all My strangeness straight.”
He saith, “The slave despised,
His life makes plain in Me;
All My hard sayings suit them well,
Whom I sink deep to free.”
To them of base estate,
The simple, in his simpleness,
Reads all My strangeness straight.”
He saith, “The slave despised,
His life makes plain in Me;
All My hard sayings suit them well,
Whom I sink deep to free.”
Leisure He giveth, and gold,
Who may the bearers blame;
But He had all, and did leave all,
Emptied of all He came.
I know not—yet methinks
'Twere sweet from all to wend
So once to walk with Him the way
As a man walks with his friend.
Who may the bearers blame;
But He had all, and did leave all,
Emptied of all He came.
141
'Twere sweet from all to wend
So once to walk with Him the way
As a man walks with his friend.
He was despised;—if I
Have honour, woe's my heart,
I will Him seek and share the shame,
I must to Him depart.
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
I fain would visit Thee;”
Hark, hark! Himself will be my guide,
He answers, “Come and see.”
Have honour, woe's my heart,
I will Him seek and share the shame,
I must to Him depart.
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
I fain would visit Thee;”
Hark, hark! Himself will be my guide,
He answers, “Come and see.”
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |