The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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December 16
ALONE WITH GOD |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
397
December 16 ALONE WITH GOD
“I am not alone, but I and the Father.”—St. John viii. 16.
Alone with God—
The shadows fell away,
The masks and fig-leaves of this mortal dress
With all the rags of false self-righteousness
Beneath His rod.
My good deeds seemed but growth of mere decay,
And I had nothing left but nakedness
To cheat the death which it could not delay.
My soul failed fluttering,
Like some wounded thing,
Which lifts to Heaven its uttering
On a broken wing.
The shadows fell away,
The masks and fig-leaves of this mortal dress
With all the rags of false self-righteousness
Beneath His rod.
My good deeds seemed but growth of mere decay,
And I had nothing left but nakedness
To cheat the death which it could not delay.
My soul failed fluttering,
Like some wounded thing,
Which lifts to Heaven its uttering
On a broken wing.
Alone with God—
The mountains were a mist,
Dissolving at His Presence and His Power;
The storm lay still and low; trembling, the tower
Appeared to nod,
Just by the lurid sunset caught and kiss'd.
Then from the silence, as it broke in flower
With sweet half-lights of rose and amethyst,
Soft as snow driven
By a summer wind—
A Voice, “Thou art forgiven
Who hast greatly sinned.”
The mountains were a mist,
Dissolving at His Presence and His Power;
The storm lay still and low; trembling, the tower
Appeared to nod,
Just by the lurid sunset caught and kiss'd.
Then from the silence, as it broke in flower
With sweet half-lights of rose and amethyst,
Soft as snow driven
By a summer wind—
A Voice, “Thou art forgiven
Who hast greatly sinned.”
| The Prisoner of Love | |