The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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August 25
EL SHADDAI |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
277
August 25 EL SHADDAI
‘Behold, thou art fair, my love.”—Sol. Song i. 15.
When the evening drops its curtain,
And a silence and a rest
Do engarment the uncertain
Landmarks which elude my quest;
He in drearest gloom is clearest,
And divinely manifest.
Then His arms around me twining
Wreathe themselves with more than shining
And compel by quiet force;
Till I fly on sudden wings,
Where the grand eternal springs
Beat and bubble at their source.
And a silence and a rest
Do engarment the uncertain
Landmarks which elude my quest;
He in drearest gloom is clearest,
And divinely manifest.
Then His arms around me twining
Wreathe themselves with more than shining
And compel by quiet force;
Till I fly on sudden wings,
Where the grand eternal springs
Beat and bubble at their source.
Till in vision unarrested
I, though clogged with human frame,
Sink upon the Woman-breasted
God of the unuttered Name;
And the shadows' poppied meadows
Burst and blossom into flame.
All that virgin is and comely,
All the heavenly and the homely
Mix and melt in spirit space;
While the passion that is soul,
Past the senses' brute control,
Dies and lives in His embrace.
I, though clogged with human frame,
Sink upon the Woman-breasted
God of the unuttered Name;
And the shadows' poppied meadows
Burst and blossom into flame.
All that virgin is and comely,
All the heavenly and the homely
Mix and melt in spirit space;
While the passion that is soul,
Past the senses' brute control,
Dies and lives in His embrace.
| The Prisoner of Love | |