 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE SUPPER OF THE SOUL.
Come, my soul, and set the dishes,
For the goodly meal;
Not a feast of loaves and fishes,
Nor of earthly weal;
But of higher hopes and wishes,
And of thoughts that kneel.
For the goodly meal;
Not a feast of loaves and fishes,
Nor of earthly weal;
But of higher hopes and wishes,
And of thoughts that kneel.
God, my soul, has spread the table,
With the Bread of Life;
Though thy foes are more than fable,
And their wrath is rife;
He shall smite their pride like Babel,
He shall quench their strife.
With the Bread of Life;
Though thy foes are more than fable,
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He shall smite their pride like Babel,
He shall quench their strife.
Faith, my soul, with promise wrestles,
In the hour of need;
Till it brings the precious vessels,
That the fainting feed;
And the Dove of Mercy nestles,
In the wounds that bleed.
In the hour of need;
Till it brings the precious vessels,
That the fainting feed;
And the Dove of Mercy nestles,
In the wounds that bleed.
All, my soul, both food and platter,
Are God's gifts and care;
Time is but a little matter,
Yet thou hast thy share;
And the feasts that make thee fatter,
Are the fasts of prayer.
Are God's gifts and care;
Time is but a little matter,
Yet thou hast thy share;
And the feasts that make thee fatter,
Are the fasts of prayer.
Christ Himself is plate and chalice,
Christ is drink and meat;
And we build the banquet's palace,
When we kiss His feet;
But the world's own meat is malice,
And its drink deceit.
Christ is drink and meat;
And we build the banquet's palace,
When we kiss His feet;
But the world's own meat is malice,
And its drink deceit.
Earth has only starving pleasures,
Food that frets and harms;
But with overflowing measures,
Christ our hunger calms;
Yet we never taste His treasures,
Till within His arms.
Food that frets and harms;
But with overflowing measures,
Christ our hunger calms;
Yet we never taste His treasures,
Till within His arms.
Earth is but a sorry planner,
When our wealth has ceased;
But our prayers are mixed with manna,
When we know it least;
And the heart that sings Hosanna,
Has the fairest feast.
When our wealth has ceased;
But our prayers are mixed with manna,
When we know it least;
And the heart that sings Hosanna,
Has the fairest feast.
Though I have no human mother,
Though no father be,
Heavenly Jesus, Holy Brother,
Bid my hunger flee;
Bring Thyself and not another.
Come and sup with me.
Though no father be,
Heavenly Jesus, Holy Brother,
Bid my hunger flee;
Bring Thyself and not another.
Come and sup with me.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |