 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
4
January 3 GRACE AND THE THORN
“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh. ... For this
thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from
me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee:
for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”—2 Cor.
xii. 7–9.
Give me Thy burdens, Lord, ere I go out,
Against the trials of a troublous earth;
I needs must have my cross, my glorious doubt,
My aching dearth;
I cannot breathe Thy better air, unless
Faith marks the cloud which veils the dazzling dome,
And feels the claim of that world-weariness
Calling me Home.
Against the trials of a troublous earth;
I needs must have my cross, my glorious doubt,
My aching dearth;
I cannot breathe Thy better air, unless
Faith marks the cloud which veils the dazzling dome,
And feels the claim of that world-weariness
Calling me Home.
Give me the cares that are my armour now,
Though long brute barriers to the onward way;
Spare not one thorn that pierced the unwilling brow,
But yesterday;
Bind me in chains of many wants, and load
My bitter life with bondage grey and mean,
And it shall be a staff, albeit a goad
Whereon I lean.
Though long brute barriers to the onward way;
Spare not one thorn that pierced the unwilling brow,
But yesterday;
Bind me in chains of many wants, and load
My bitter life with bondage grey and mean,
And it shall be a staff, albeit a goad
Whereon I lean.
Give me the losses that are just my wealth,
The lack wherein my wings alone may rise,
For in the blindness and the blank unhealth
Lurks Paradise;
Ah, in each shadow, at the fire or shock,
Out of the death that I must daily brave,
I plant my feet more firmly on the Rock,
My cradle-grave.
The lack wherein my wings alone may rise,
For in the blindness and the blank unhealth
Lurks Paradise;
Ah, in each shadow, at the fire or shock,
Out of the death that I must daily brave,
I plant my feet more firmly on the Rock,
My cradle-grave.
| The Prisoner of Love | |