 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
385
December 4 EXEAT
“He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place
know him any more.”—Job vii. 10.
Would I recall it, if I might,
Who travail in this house of flesh
And suffer much and sin afresh,
Though toiling upward to the Light?
Would I, a rebel, grieve thereat,
And honour not with willing choice
The sentence of the Master's Voice,
That gives a schoolboy's Exeat?
Who travail in this house of flesh
And suffer much and sin afresh,
Though toiling upward to the Light?
Would I, a rebel, grieve thereat,
And honour not with willing choice
The sentence of the Master's Voice,
That gives a schoolboy's Exeat?
Nay, if I could undo the call,
Which summons me at length to go
And leave my prison of clay below,
I would not be again its thrall.
Why should I tarry in a bond,
When round me rise more loving claims
With lasting links and higher aims
And the blue sky of Peace beyond?
Which summons me at length to go
And leave my prison of clay below,
I would not be again its thrall.
Why should I tarry in a bond,
When round me rise more loving claims
With lasting links and higher aims
And the blue sky of Peace beyond?
I do not know my lesson now,
And there are deeper truths to learn
For which in better moods I yearn,
Yet to God's will I humbly bow.
Though others sit where once I sat
And time has been a wasted tool,
I am a pupil freed from school
And hail with joy my Exeat.
And there are deeper truths to learn
For which in better moods I yearn,
Yet to God's will I humbly bow.
Though others sit where once I sat
And time has been a wasted tool,
I am a pupil freed from school
And hail with joy my Exeat.
| The Prisoner of Love | |