The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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June 24
AT THE END |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
211
June 24 AT THE END
“I have seen an end of all perfection, but thy commandment is
exceeding broad.”—Ps. cxix. 96.
I was at the unfinished end of all
The sweet and solemn things,
As if the frown of some forbidden wall
Froze up my ardent wings;
And the great secret springs,
Before full beauty, seemed to fail and fall.
And I too was the incompletest part,
God had not broken yet in Love my heart.
The sweet and solemn things,
As if the frown of some forbidden wall
Froze up my ardent wings;
And the great secret springs,
Before full beauty, seemed to fail and fall.
And I too was the incompletest part,
God had not broken yet in Love my heart.
With pain I drew the passion of my breath
Trembling by its frail tie,
Each labouring pace I passed from death to death
And yet could never die;
Heedless, I yet did lie
Within the Hands which held the world beneath.
I was a pilgrim soul that could not stray,
Because where'er I went Christ was the Way.
Trembling by its frail tie,
Each labouring pace I passed from death to death
And yet could never die;
Heedless, I yet did lie
Within the Hands which held the world beneath.
I was a pilgrim soul that could not stray,
Because where'er I went Christ was the Way.
Then great Love smote me with His chastening rod,
And laid me very low;
I seemed to touch and taste the graveyard clod,
And hear the grasses grow
Above me, at His blow—
Though gathered to the Mercies of my God;
And from the shaping of His Altar knife,
I rose when broken to the better life.
And laid me very low;
I seemed to touch and taste the graveyard clod,
And hear the grasses grow
Above me, at His blow—
Though gathered to the Mercies of my God;
And from the shaping of His Altar knife,
I rose when broken to the better life.
The Prisoner of Love | ||