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‘Eye hath not Seen.’
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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
‘Eye hath not Seen.’
‘You never write of heaven,
Though you write of heavenly themes;
You never paint the glory
But in reflected gleams!’
My pencil only pictures
What I have known and seen:
How can I tell the joys that dwell
Where I have never been?
Though you write of heavenly themes;
You never paint the glory
But in reflected gleams!’
My pencil only pictures
What I have known and seen:
How can I tell the joys that dwell
Where I have never been?
I sing the songs of Zion,
But I would never dare
To imitate the chorus,
Like many waters, there.
I sketch the sunny landscape,
But can I paint the sun?
Can that by art, which human heart
Conceiveth not, be won?
But I would never dare
To imitate the chorus,
Like many waters, there.
I sketch the sunny landscape,
But can I paint the sun?
Can that by art, which human heart
Conceiveth not, be won?
140
The Laplander, that never
Hath left his flowerless snows,
Might make another realize
The fragrance of the rose:
The blind might teach his brother
Each subtle tint to know,
Of lovely lights and summer sights,
Of shadow and of glow.
Hath left his flowerless snows,
Might make another realize
The fragrance of the rose:
The blind might teach his brother
Each subtle tint to know,
Of lovely lights and summer sights,
Of shadow and of glow.
To whom all sound is silence,
The dumb man might impart
The spirit-winging marvels
Of Handel's sacred art.
But never, sister, never
Was told by mortal breath
What they behold, o'er whom hath rolled
The one dark wave of death.
The dumb man might impart
The spirit-winging marvels
Of Handel's sacred art.
But never, sister, never
Was told by mortal breath
What they behold, o'er whom hath rolled
The one dark wave of death.
Yet angel-echoes reach us,
Borne on from star to star,
And glimpses of our purchased home,
Not always faint and far.
No harp seraphic brings them,
No poet's glowing word,
By One alone revealed and known—
The Spirit of the Lord.
Borne on from star to star,
And glimpses of our purchased home,
Not always faint and far.
No harp seraphic brings them,
No poet's glowing word,
By One alone revealed and known—
The Spirit of the Lord.
Have we not bent in sadness
Before the mercy-seat,
And longed with speechless longing
To kiss the Master's feet?
And though for precious ointment
We had but tears to bring,
We let them flow, and could not go
Till we had seen our King.
Before the mercy-seat,
And longed with speechless longing
To kiss the Master's feet?
141
We had but tears to bring,
We let them flow, and could not go
Till we had seen our King.
Then came a flash of seeing
How every cloud should pass,
And vision should be perfect,
Undimmed by darkling glass.
The glory that excelleth
Shone out with sudden ray,
We seemed to stand so near ‘the land’
No longer ‘far away,’—
How every cloud should pass,
And vision should be perfect,
Undimmed by darkling glass.
The glory that excelleth
Shone out with sudden ray,
We seemed to stand so near ‘the land’
No longer ‘far away,’—
The glisten of the white robe,
The waving of the palm,
The ended sin and sorrow,
The sweet eternal calm,
The holy adoration
That perfect love shall bring,
And, face to face, in glorious grace,
The beauty of the King!
The waving of the palm,
The ended sin and sorrow,
The sweet eternal calm,
The holy adoration
That perfect love shall bring,
And, face to face, in glorious grace,
The beauty of the King!
Oh, this is more than poem,
And more than the highest song;
A witness with our spirit,
Though hidden, full and strong.
'Tis no new revelation
Vouchsafed to saint or sage,
But light from God cast bright and broad
Upon the sacred page.
And more than the highest song;
A witness with our spirit,
Though hidden, full and strong.
'Tis no new revelation
Vouchsafed to saint or sage,
But light from God cast bright and broad
Upon the sacred page.
142
Our fairest dream can never
Outshine that holy light,
Our noblest thought can never soar
Beyond that word of might.
Our whole anticipation,
Our Master's best reward,
Our crown of bliss, is summed in this—
‘For ever with the Lord!’
Outshine that holy light,
Our noblest thought can never soar
Beyond that word of might.
Our whole anticipation,
Our Master's best reward,
Our crown of bliss, is summed in this—
‘For ever with the Lord!’
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |