The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
November 12
OUT OF THE GRAVE |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
|
 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
360
November 12 OUT OF THE GRAVE
“Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of
wickedness, ... and that ye break every yoke?”—Isa. lviii. 6.
Breaking, breaking—
But in glooming and in glow
Still I hear the better sound
Soft beneath my ills and aching,
Of the Worker who around
Builds again at each hard blow.
For it is besides a fount
Slaking, slaking
Thirsty lips that long for food
Meet for any hour or mood;
Only thus, with ceaseless breaking,
Can I truly higher mount.
But in glooming and in glow
Still I hear the better sound
Soft beneath my ills and aching,
Of the Worker who around
Builds again at each hard blow.
For it is besides a fount
Slaking, slaking
Thirsty lips that long for food
Meet for any hour or mood;
Only thus, with ceaseless breaking,
Can I truly higher mount.
Breaking, breaking—
Just the scaffoldings that fall
Which would hide in earthly cloud,
With a terrible forsaking
Of their birthright pure and proud,
Souls content with less than all.
Though I weaken, with a dull
Quaking, quaking,
Rises strong as heaven's blue dome
Up and out my blessèd home;
Resurrection splendour breaking,
From the grave and grinning skull.
Just the scaffoldings that fall
Which would hide in earthly cloud,
With a terrible forsaking
Of their birthright pure and proud,
Souls content with less than all.
Though I weaken, with a dull
Quaking, quaking,
Rises strong as heaven's blue dome
Up and out my blessèd home;
Resurrection splendour breaking,
From the grave and grinning skull.
| The Prisoner of Love | |