 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
288
September 5 DEO LAUDES
‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give
glory.”—Ps. cxv. 1.
Only the faults and frailties—they are mine,
The imperfections and the wrong;
And if my error sometimes seems to shine,
'Tis but some little seed of grace Divine;
To Thee alone doth praise belong,
From Matin bells to Evensong.
The imperfections and the wrong;
And if my error sometimes seems to shine,
'Tis but some little seed of grace Divine;
To Thee alone doth praise belong,
From Matin bells to Evensong.
Whate'er I do or say in touch with Truth,
Each barren twig that bursts in flower
Is of Thy loving Life which gives it youth;
My words were ugly and my ways uncouth,
But for Thy Presence and Thy Power
At night and in the noontide hour.
Each barren twig that bursts in flower
Is of Thy loving Life which gives it youth;
My words were ugly and my ways uncouth,
But for Thy Presence and Thy Power
At night and in the noontide hour.
Only the evil, Lord, is mine—the stain
Which clings to all my holiest things;
For yet though hidden clanks the earthly chain
Which ties to sinful pleasure which is pain,
And clogs my mounting angel wings—
Though Thou would'st make us crownèd kings.
Which clings to all my holiest things;
For yet though hidden clanks the earthly chain
Which ties to sinful pleasure which is pain,
And clogs my mounting angel wings—
Though Thou would'st make us crownèd kings.
But when my pathway chances to be straight
And through the dark world glimmers white,
Yet should I totter on with trembling gait
Or turn aside for every tempting bait,
But for Thy Goodness—in despite
Of Love, Love, Love, Love infinite.
And through the dark world glimmers white,
Yet should I totter on with trembling gait
Or turn aside for every tempting bait,
But for Thy Goodness—in despite
Of Love, Love, Love, Love infinite.
| The Prisoner of Love | |