The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
269
August 17 LIFE AND DEATH
“To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”—Phil. i. 21.
I cannot live without Thee, Lord—
Thy Presence is my very breath,
And (like the sentence of the sword)
The separation from Thee death:
Thou art mine inmost pulse of being,
And Thou the sight of all my seeing.
Thy Presence is my very breath,
And (like the sentence of the sword)
The separation from Thee death:
Thou art mine inmost pulse of being,
And Thou the sight of all my seeing.
Dear Christ, how terrible to go
Bound as in graveclothes through the years,
And 'mid corruption never know
The blessèd joy of bitter tears;
And not to find the one salvation,
Which only comes through tribulation.
Bound as in graveclothes through the years,
And 'mid corruption never know
The blessèd joy of bitter tears;
And not to find the one salvation,
Which only comes through tribulation.
Ah, show me Thy most precious lore—
Sin is its own exceeding curse,
The penalty of sin is more
And evil ways that go to worse;
We keep but what we spend by giving,
And till we die we know not living.
Sin is its own exceeding curse,
The penalty of sin is more
And evil ways that go to worse;
We keep but what we spend by giving,
And till we die we know not living.
When I make shipwreck at the last
And meet the final shade and shock,
May I and every care be cast
Alone on Christ who is the Rock
And teach me Peace, when it is spoken,
Can only be if I am broken.
And meet the final shade and shock,
May I and every care be cast
Alone on Christ who is the Rock
And teach me Peace, when it is spoken,
Can only be if I am broken.
| The Prisoner of Love | |