The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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June 17
THE BOOK BEAUTIFUL |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
203
June 17 THE BOOK BEAUTIFUL
“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he
hath set eternity in their heart.”—Eccles. iii. 11.
I love it all, the varied sky,
The scarlet clouds that voyage by,
In common things the mystery
Where life sits hushed or hidden;
The winds that travel none know whence,
That awe which is the soul's defence,
And the Divine sweet effluence
Wherefrom I draw unchidden;
I love it all, and ever shall
Observe the secret festival.
The scarlet clouds that voyage by,
In common things the mystery
Where life sits hushed or hidden;
The winds that travel none know whence,
That awe which is the soul's defence,
And the Divine sweet effluence
Wherefrom I draw unchidden;
I love it all, and ever shall
Observe the secret festival.
I love it all, the bramble set
Betwixt the blooms an hourly fret,
Nor would I leave one prickle yet
Out of the toils and trials;
Dear to me is the honied cup
When I with unknown angels sup,
And untold bliss that bubbles up,
But dearer sorrow's vials;
For, all around me, laps and lies
The breath of Love's eternities.
Betwixt the blooms an hourly fret,
Nor would I leave one prickle yet
Out of the toils and trials;
Dear to me is the honied cup
When I with unknown angels sup,
And untold bliss that bubbles up,
But dearer sorrow's vials;
For, all around me, laps and lies
The breath of Love's eternities.
| The Prisoner of Love | |