Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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A CHRISTOPHANY.—I. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
A CHRISTOPHANY.—I.
I had a dream, a solemn dream
That bade me hold a tryst
Down by a dark and rolling stream,
With the dear blesséd Christ.
I saw a Hand, a piercèd Hand,
Which called me from this pleasant land
And every idle whim,
The scarlet flowers
And happy bowers,
And beckoned me to Him—
Unto a tryst, a holy tryst
With my fair Master, the sweet Christ.
That bade me hold a tryst
Down by a dark and rolling stream,
With the dear blesséd Christ.
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Which called me from this pleasant land
And every idle whim,
The scarlet flowers
And happy bowers,
And beckoned me to Him—
Unto a tryst, a holy tryst
With my fair Master, the sweet Christ.
It came at night, one awful night
Stabbed by the levin's dart;
And yet a marvellous great Light,
Broke from a bleeding Heart.
I saw His eyes, His loving eyes
More soft than sun in summer skies—
More beautiful than day
With holy tears
That washed my fears,
And made me kneel and pray;
Till in that Heart, that bleeding Heart,
I found myself, my better part.
Stabbed by the levin's dart;
And yet a marvellous great Light,
Broke from a bleeding Heart.
I saw His eyes, His loving eyes
More soft than sun in summer skies—
More beautiful than day
With holy tears
That washed my fears,
And made me kneel and pray;
Till in that Heart, that bleeding Heart,
I found myself, my better part.
It was no dream, no passing dream,
It was no fancied tryst;
And life was that gray tossing stream,
Which carried me to Christ.
I saw His feet, His piercèd feet
On cutting stone, in cruel street,
Wherein He had no lot;
For labour's pen
And striving men—
Alas, they knew him not.
Though toil and tryst, each noble tryst,
Drew virtue from the wounds of Christ.
It was no fancied tryst;
And life was that gray tossing stream,
Which carried me to Christ.
I saw His feet, His piercèd feet
On cutting stone, in cruel street,
Wherein He had no lot;
For labour's pen
And striving men—
Alas, they knew him not.
Though toil and tryst, each noble tryst,
Drew virtue from the wounds of Christ.
I bent my brow, my rebel brow,
And struck this guilty breast;
And to my lips a sudden vow
Rushed, with a sacred rest.
I heard His voice, His healing voice,
That mixed with my own settled choice;
And on my drooping head
He bade me bear
The cross of care,
Which He had borne instead.
And on His breast, His heavenly breast,
I found the very thorns were rest.
And struck this guilty breast;
And to my lips a sudden vow
Rushed, with a sacred rest.
I heard His voice, His healing voice,
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And on my drooping head
He bade me bear
The cross of care,
Which He had borne instead.
And on His breast, His heavenly breast,
I found the very thorns were rest.
And now I keep, I daily keep
Beneath the Cross a tryst,
And in the visions of my sleep
I suffer still with Christ.
I know His face, His wondrous face
Is all my glory, all my grace,
If life be sometimes dim;
And, when I ail
Some tender nail
Will marry me to Him.
And so a tryst, a lover's tryst
Is what I only ask of Christ.
Beneath the Cross a tryst,
And in the visions of my sleep
I suffer still with Christ.
I know His face, His wondrous face
Is all my glory, all my grace,
If life be sometimes dim;
And, when I ail
Some tender nail
Will marry me to Him.
And so a tryst, a lover's tryst
Is what I only ask of Christ.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |