 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE DOVE.
O'er the hills and through the valleys,
I was wandering far;
Where the flood its forces rallies,
Ere it bursts its bar;
Where the mountain summit dallies,
With the morning star.
I was wandering far;
Where the flood its forces rallies,
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Where the mountain summit dallies,
With the morning star.
All unshepherded and shiftless,
All without a way;
Wrapped in darkness deep and riftless,
Night at noon of day;
Homeless, friendless, thoughtless, thriftless,
Ever more astray.
All without a way;
Wrapped in darkness deep and riftless,
Night at noon of day;
Homeless, friendless, thoughtless, thriftless,
Ever more astray.
Only had I as my fellow,
Flint that tore my feet;
Only waters wan and yellow,
My conductors meet;
Not a gleam the gloom to mellow,
In its solemn seat.
Flint that tore my feet;
Only waters wan and yellow,
My conductors meet;
Not a gleam the gloom to mellow,
In its solemn seat.
Up above the sun was hidden,
In a hateful shroud;
Down below the breezes chidden,
Dared not pipe aloud;
All around was hope forbidden,
Everywhere a cloud.
In a hateful shroud;
Down below the breezes chidden,
Dared not pipe aloud;
All around was hope forbidden,
Everywhere a cloud.
Then when life was nigh despairing,
Sped the blessèd bird;
When my travail most was wearing,
Streams of gladness stirred;
Spoke when pain was overbearing,
Like a wingèd word.
Sped the blessèd bird;
When my travail most was wearing,
Streams of gladness stirred;
Spoke when pain was overbearing,
Like a wingèd word.
Yes, when love was dimly treading,
Dawned that heavenly Dove;
Gentle drops of sunshine shedding,
Bright from springs above;
Wings of healing fondly spreading,
From the land of Love.
Dawned that heavenly Dove;
Gentle drops of sunshine shedding,
Bright from springs above;
Wings of healing fondly spreading,
From the land of Love.
In its beak a tender token,
Olive branch and bud;
But its plumes were bruised and broken,
And its bosom blood;
Like a spirit that has spoken,
With the fire and flood.
Olive branch and bud;
But its plumes were bruised and broken,
And its bosom blood;
Like a spirit that has spoken,
With the fire and flood.
And I lifted hand and took it.
Took it to my breast;
In the shelter nothing shook it,
But the heart it prest;
Till the throbbing all forsook it,
All but throbs of rest.
Took it to my breast;
In the shelter nothing shook it,
But the heart it prest;
Till the throbbing all forsook it,
All but throbs of rest.
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Then a change came on my being,
Breathing shadows bright—
To my blinded eyes a seeing,
That was more than sight;
In the walls of darkness fleeing,
Opened doors of light.
Breathing shadows bright—
To my blinded eyes a seeing,
That was more than sight;
In the walls of darkness fleeing,
Opened doors of light.
O the rapture then that blended,
With a blesséd pain!
O the weary thirst that ended,
In refreshing rain!
O the glory that descended,
Starring every stain!
With a blesséd pain!
O the weary thirst that ended,
In refreshing rain!
O the glory that descended,
Starring every stain!
Softly pleading, sweetly calling,
Sang the voice of Peace;
Bade the evil stay its thralling,
Made misgivings cease;
Like the hush of evening falling,
On some soul's release.
Sang the voice of Peace;
Bade the evil stay its thralling,
Made misgivings cease;
Like the hush of evening falling,
On some soul's release.
And I knew that love had found Him,
Him it least had sought;
That these hands which once had bound him,
Now for Jesus wrought;
Now and evermore enwound Him,
In one kindly thought.
Him it least had sought;
That these hands which once had bound him,
Now for Jesus wrought;
Now and evermore enwound Him,
In one kindly thought.
One fond deed of faithful straining,
To a brother blest;
One pure wish for simply gaining,
One poor bosom rest;
Hath for angels entertaining,
Maketh God the guest.
To a brother blest;
One pure wish for simply gaining,
One poor bosom rest;
Hath for angels entertaining,
Maketh God the guest.
Waters coolly, sweetly welling,
Through the desert roll,
Rocks and hills in vain rebelling,
At their tender toll;
Peace erects its richest dwelling,
In the barest soul.
Through the desert roll,
Rocks and hills in vain rebelling,
At their tender toll;
Peace erects its richest dwelling,
In the barest soul.
Christ hath breathed His larger blessings,
On the halt and blind;
And His hand its softer pressings,
Keepeth for the kind;
Heaven comes down with most caressings,
On the lowly mind.
On the halt and blind;
And His hand its softer pressings,
Keepeth for the kind;
Heaven comes down with most caressings,
On the lowly mind.
O'er the hill and through the valley,
I was wandering still;
Where the torrent surges sally,
Like some wicked will;
Where in moans unmusically,
Hollow calls to hill.
I was wandering still;
Where the torrent surges sally,
Like some wicked will;
Where in moans unmusically,
Hollow calls to hill.
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Every step was toil and trouble,
Every breath was pain;
Folly like a bursting bubble,
Died and left—a stain;
And the darkness was as double,
In the light to gain.
Every breath was pain;
Folly like a bursting bubble,
Died and left—a stain;
And the darkness was as double,
In the light to gain.
When the Dove in mercy speeding,
To those barren bounds;
Trembling, torn and tossed, and bleeding,
Came with saving sounds;
Only just its weakness pleading,
Only just its wounds.
To those barren bounds;
Trembling, torn and tossed, and bleeding,
Came with saving sounds;
Only just its weakness pleading,
Only just its wounds.
Then my vices lost their splendour,
When I took this guest;
Gave it welcome true and tender,
Gave it of my best;
Though the whole that I could render,
Was an empty breast.
When I took this guest;
Gave it welcome true and tender,
Gave it of my best;
Though the whole that I could render,
Was an empty breast.
I who sought no path but pleasure,
Found alone its stings;
I who made myself the measure,
Of eternal things;
Having nothing now, have treasure
Greater far than kings.
Found alone its stings;
I who made myself the measure,
Of eternal things;
Having nothing now, have treasure
Greater far than kings.
Now when storm waves round me welter,
Peace has most its part;
He who but has truly felt her,
Feels no earthly smart;
And the Dove has still its shelter,
Nestling at my heart.
Peace has most its part;
He who but has truly felt her,
Feels no earthly smart;
And the Dove has still its shelter,
Nestling at my heart.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |