 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
143
ALL IN ALL.
Thou knowest, though still I fail and fall,
Thy love is yet mine all in all—
My health, my wealth, my joy, my law,
Yea, and the very breath I draw.
Thy love is yet mine all in all—
My health, my wealth, my joy, my law,
Yea, and the very breath I draw.
As Peter said, I say the word:
‘Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord!’—
I, stained with more than his disgrace,
And yet so bold before Thy face!
‘Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord!’—
I, stained with more than his disgrace,
And yet so bold before Thy face!
The hills, the vales, my words repeat,—
The solid earth beneath my feet,
The sun, the moon, the stars at even,
Yea, and the listening saints in heaven.
The solid earth beneath my feet,
The sun, the moon, the stars at even,
Yea, and the listening saints in heaven.
Bear witness now, ye leaping seas,
And all ye woodland palaces,
And Orient lands of spice and scents,
And Northern ice-bound continents:
And all ye woodland palaces,
And Orient lands of spice and scents,
And Northern ice-bound continents:
144
In this hard heart, so cold and small,
My Lord is still mine all in all;
And if He turn His face away,
A cloud is on the face of day;
My Lord is still mine all in all;
And if He turn His face away,
A cloud is on the face of day;
And whitest day is blackest night
If I am banished from His sight;
And if afar He lingereth,
My life is living death in death.
If I am banished from His sight;
And if afar He lingereth,
My life is living death in death.
A heart so hard, so cold, so small,
What wouldst thou with this heart at all?—
So weak, so poor, so like to stray,
Breaking Thy mandates every day!
What wouldst thou with this heart at all?—
So weak, so poor, so like to stray,
Breaking Thy mandates every day!
And yet, though clogged with sin I be,
I fail not in Thy thought of me;
For on my soul Thyself hast writ
Thy Name, and the sweet grace of it.
I fail not in Thy thought of me;
For on my soul Thyself hast writ
Thy Name, and the sweet grace of it.
And on my soul Thyseld canst trace
The pictured likeness of Thy face,
Clear as of old Veronica
Upon the blood-stained kerchief saw.
The pictured likeness of Thy face,
Clear as of old Veronica
Upon the blood-stained kerchief saw.
No true and faithful lover I,
Yet Thy poor lover till I die—
Yea, and past gates of death and birth,
And the lost memory of the earth.
Yet Thy poor lover till I die—
Yea, and past gates of death and birth,
And the lost memory of the earth.
145
So take Thou me, and, if Thou wilt,
Purge from me all my woe and guilt;
Show me to angels standing by
Whiter than whitest purity.
Purge from me all my woe and guilt;
Show me to angels standing by
Whiter than whitest purity.
See, in Thy hands I lay them all—
My will that fails, my feet that fall;
My heart that wearies everywhere,
Yet finds Thy yoke too hard to bear.
My will that fails, my feet that fall;
My heart that wearies everywhere,
Yet finds Thy yoke too hard to bear.
Yea, with all these my love that still
Loves—for is love not hard to kill?—
Whose only grace it well may be
Is that it loves so worthily.
Loves—for is love not hard to kill?—
Whose only grace it well may be
Is that it loves so worthily.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |