Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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HOW BEAUTIFUL. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
HOW BEAUTIFUL.
O God, beyond all praises' breath,
How beautiful Thou art!
How marvellous in life and death,
And haunting to the heart!
How beautiful Thou art!
How marvellous in life and death,
And haunting to the heart!
I cannot hide away from Thee
Nor would I if I might,
For into darkness did I flee
Thou wert the shadowed night.
Nor would I if I might,
For into darkness did I flee
Thou wert the shadowed night.
Thine hour-glass is the sandy shore,
Thy cruse the dreadful deep,
Thy footsteps pace for evermore
The silent heaven of sleep.
Thy cruse the dreadful deep,
Thy footsteps pace for evermore
The silent heaven of sleep.
The lily with its virgin pose
Is fragrant with Thy grace,
And reverence sees in every rose
A glimmer of Thy Face.
Is fragrant with Thy grace,
And reverence sees in every rose
A glimmer of Thy Face.
A broken mirror one may be,
The midnight and the morn,
But yet a mirror each of Thee—
The blossom and the thorn.
The midnight and the morn,
But yet a mirror each of Thee—
The blossom and the thorn.
The tree that takes a frosty hue
Beneath the stormy strife,
Is something more, it doth endue
A fragment of Thy Life.
Beneath the stormy strife,
Is something more, it doth endue
A fragment of Thy Life.
The bridal chamber reddening up,
To meet the fruitful kiss
Of honey-bee in honey-cup,
Is blushing with Thy Bliss.
To meet the fruitful kiss
Of honey-bee in honey-cup,
Is blushing with Thy Bliss.
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I mark the waving of Thy dress,
Which covers all the globe,
Alike in weeds' unprettiness
And poppies' scarlet robe.
Which covers all the globe,
Alike in weeds' unprettiness
And poppies' scarlet robe.
The leaf that lisps its tender tale
Draws music from Thy Voice,
Which thunders in the shouting gale
When winds and waves rejoice.
Draws music from Thy Voice,
Which thunders in the shouting gale
When winds and waves rejoice.
The thought to cradle me is Thine
And rocks the sleeping land,
And in the fray from Thee Divine
I touch Thy human Hand.
And rocks the sleeping land,
And in the fray from Thee Divine
I touch Thy human Hand.
The thirsty grass that gathers rain
Of Thy free table sips,
And in the nettle's blessed pain
I only feel Thy Lips.
Of Thy free table sips,
And in the nettle's blessed pain
I only feel Thy Lips.
The gold dust on the insect's wings,
The moment of the mite,
Though both are as a jarring string,
With Thee are infinite.
The moment of the mite,
Though both are as a jarring string,
With Thee are infinite.
O God, my wonder cannot guess
What half Thy grandeurs be,
Thou universal Loveliness
Who findest room for me.
What half Thy grandeurs be,
Thou universal Loveliness
Who findest room for me.
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