Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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“NOT A SPARROW,” Etc. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
“NOT A SPARROW,” Etc.
Not a sparrow
Ever to the earth can fall,
But the Father hears its call;
Not an arrow
Of a prayer is shot on high,
But that wondrous Love is nigh
Which doth count each hair and all.
Ever to the earth can fall,
But the Father hears its call;
Not an arrow
Of a prayer is shot on high,
But that wondrous Love is nigh
Which doth count each hair and all.
Not a blossom
Of a lily may be torn,
But the Father feels the thorn;
Not a bosom
May be stabbed with cruel fear,
But His Mercy holds the spear,
Who Himself to pain was born.
Of a lily may be torn,
But the Father feels the thorn;
Not a bosom
May be stabbed with cruel fear,
But His Mercy holds the spear,
Who Himself to pain was born.
Not a bleating
Of a lamb upon the wind,
But the Father makes this kind;
Not a heating
Of a furnace comes with woe,
But He first each fiery throe
Tasted ere we walked behind.
Of a lamb upon the wind,
But the Father makes this kind;
Not a heating
Of a furnace comes with woe,
But He first each fiery throe
Tasted ere we walked behind.
Not a shadow
Drops without the Father's will,
Who takes thought of oxen still;
Not a meadow
Cries with fading flowers for rain,
But He knows the weary chain
And creation's lightest ill.
Drops without the Father's will,
Who takes thought of oxen still;
Not a meadow
Cries with fading flowers for rain,
But He knows the weary chain
And creation's lightest ill.
Not one little
Tear or trouble is so small,
But the Father notes its thrall;
Not a tittle
Of a story no one hears,
But is music to His ears
Who is as our Temple wall.
Tear or trouble is so small,
But the Father notes its thrall;
313
Of a story no one hears,
But is music to His ears
Who is as our Temple wall.
Not the straying
Of a baby's feet in night,
But the Father metes some light;
Not the playing
Of a butterfly or bee,
But His eyes in pity see
Who is all our sun and sight.
Of a baby's feet in night,
But the Father metes some light;
Not the playing
Of a butterfly or bee,
But His eyes in pity see
Who is all our sun and sight.
Not a burden
Presses on the back of care,
Which the Father does not share;
Not a guerdon,
If of gladness or of grief,
Wherein He is not the chief
Who our sins and sorrows bare.
Presses on the back of care,
Which the Father does not share;
Not a guerdon,
If of gladness or of grief,
Wherein He is not the chief
Who our sins and sorrows bare.
Not a stable
Or a wild where cattle feed
But the Father helps their need
Not a table
For His creatures' meal is spread,
But that Presence is their Bread
Which alone is Food indeed.
Or a wild where cattle feed
But the Father helps their need
Not a table
For His creatures' meal is spread,
But that Presence is their Bread
Which alone is Food indeed.
Not a sparrow
Waves in want its tiny wings,
But unto the Father clings;
Not a narrow
Nest or portion lowly laid,
But He giveth each His aid
Who is Father of all things.
Waves in want its tiny wings,
But unto the Father clings;
Not a narrow
Nest or portion lowly laid,
But He giveth each His aid
Who is Father of all things.
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