The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
I.
O Satan, thou art strong, and yet behold!
Thou shalt not snatch one sheep from out my fold,
Nor one star from the star-bright air.
Wherever thou canst pass, God goes before:
Seek thou the lonely heart, or lonely shore,
And thou shalt find my Father there.
Thou shalt not snatch one sheep from out my fold,
Nor one star from the star-bright air.
Wherever thou canst pass, God goes before:
Seek thou the lonely heart, or lonely shore,
And thou shalt find my Father there.
The saddest soul is his.—The loneliest rose
That all unloved upon the hill-side blows
He guards and tends with loving hand.—
The least frail rose-pink shell is in his care,—
Though it be least of all the shells that were
Tossed last night on the golden sand.—
That all unloved upon the hill-side blows
He guards and tends with loving hand.—
The least frail rose-pink shell is in his care,—
Though it be least of all the shells that were
Tossed last night on the golden sand.—
All sinful souls are his.—He can redeem
The tiger-heart and tiger-eyes that gleam:
The hands that seek for human prey.
Plunge down to deepest hell. Yet God is there.
He passes unscorched through its burning air,
And turns its lurid night to day.
The tiger-heart and tiger-eyes that gleam:
The hands that seek for human prey.
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He passes unscorched through its burning air,
And turns its lurid night to day.
From evil blossoms good. The God who fills
With flowers the hollows of the green-robed hills
And fills with bloom the lap of spring
Is the same God who at the helm presides
When the wild vessel plunges through white tides:
The reckless waters own their King.
With flowers the hollows of the green-robed hills
And fills with bloom the lap of spring
Is the same God who at the helm presides
When the wild vessel plunges through white tides:
The reckless waters own their King.
Through me the thought of God that underlies
The hills and vales and woods and clouds and skies,
That, ever unseen, works its will,
Became just for one moment plain and clear:
God spake once, so that every soul might hear:
Judge of the ocean by the rill.
The hills and vales and woods and clouds and skies,
That, ever unseen, works its will,
Became just for one moment plain and clear:
God spake once, so that every soul might hear:
Judge of the ocean by the rill.
The ocean, deep, eternal, rolls along:—
Lifting its billows, foaming, stormy, strong,
It plunges on from shore to shore.
But yet the silver rill that all men see
Has its own waves. God's image was in me,
The human God whom ye adore.
Lifting its billows, foaming, stormy, strong,
It plunges on from shore to shore.
But yet the silver rill that all men see
Has its own waves. God's image was in me,
The human God whom ye adore.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |