 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
VII.
Yet again a wondrous anthem
Rang across the crystal sea;
Harps and voices all harmonious,
Nearer, nearer, sweet, symphonious,
Meet for heaven's own jubilee.
Rang across the crystal sea;
Harps and voices all harmonious,
Nearer, nearer, sweet, symphonious,
Meet for heaven's own jubilee.
One by one the singers gathered,
Ever swelling that great song,
Till a mighty chorus thundered,
Till the listening seraphs wondered,
As its triumph pealed along.
Ever swelling that great song,
Till a mighty chorus thundered,
Till the listening seraphs wondered,
As its triumph pealed along.
Onward came they with rejoicing,
Bearing one upon their wings,
With their waving palms victorious,
To the presence-chamber glorious
Of the very King of kings.
Bearing one upon their wings,
With their waving palms victorious,
To the presence-chamber glorious
Of the very King of kings.
And a whisper, clear and thrilling,
Fell upon her ravished ear—
‘Lo, thy harvest song ascending!
Lo, thy golden sheaves are bending
Full and precious, round thee here!’
Fell upon her ravished ear—
‘Lo, thy harvest song ascending!
Lo, thy golden sheaves are bending
Full and precious, round thee here!’
‘Nay,’ she said, ‘I have no harvest,
For I had no power to sow;
Burdening others, daily dying,
Year by year in weakness lying,
Still and silent, lone and low.’
For I had no power to sow;
107
Year by year in weakness lying,
Still and silent, lone and low.’
Then a flash of sudden glory
Lit her long life-mystery;
By that heavenly intuition
All the secret of her mission
Shone, revealed in radiancy.
Lit her long life-mystery;
By that heavenly intuition
All the secret of her mission
Shone, revealed in radiancy.
And she knew the sweet memorials
Of her hidden life had shed
Clories on the sufferer's pillow,
Calmness on the darkling billow,
Peace upon the dying bed.
Of her hidden life had shed
Clories on the sufferer's pillow,
Calmness on the darkling billow,
Peace upon the dying bed.
Thousand, thousand-fold her guerdon,
Thousand, thousand-fold her bliss!
While His cup of suffering sharing,
All His will so meekly bearing,
He was gloriously preparing
This for her, and her for this!
Thousand, thousand-fold her bliss!
While His cup of suffering sharing,
All His will so meekly bearing,
He was gloriously preparing
This for her, and her for this!
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |