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91
Spurgeon.
FEBRUARY 4TH, 1892.
Neither for rugged wit nor Saxon phrase,
Oh mourners by the soft Italian sea—
Blue as the sapphire lake of Galilee
Whereby in thought he laboured all his days—
This prophet last of Puritans—we praise,
But rather that he never bowed the knee
To false expedient, ever flung out free
The banner of a gospel he upraised.
Oh mourners by the soft Italian sea—
Blue as the sapphire lake of Galilee
Whereby in thought he laboured all his days—
This prophet last of Puritans—we praise,
But rather that he never bowed the knee
To false expedient, ever flung out free
The banner of a gospel he upraised.
Not on the hills with peace his feet were shod,
No desert silence by his voice surprised
Heard the clear note “Repent ye of your sin”;
But in the midst of mammon's busiest din
He dared, each day rededicate to God,
To cry aloud “Believe and be baptised.”
No desert silence by his voice surprised
Heard the clear note “Repent ye of your sin”;
But in the midst of mammon's busiest din
He dared, each day rededicate to God,
To cry aloud “Believe and be baptised.”
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