Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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GRAMMAR OF GRACE. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
GRAMMAR OF GRACE.
Lord, I am but a little child,
And have not learned the spelling
Which only leaves us good and mild,
And curbs the proud rebelling;
Though in the Grammar of Thy Grace,
The pupils always see God's face,
And need no harsh compelling.
For ages past the rod was broken
With Thy dear bleeding heart,
Wherein all have a part;
While thence the ransomed earth is soaken,
And fountains living start.
And have not learned the spelling
Which only leaves us good and mild,
And curbs the proud rebelling;
Though in the Grammar of Thy Grace,
The pupils always see God's face,
And need no harsh compelling.
For ages past the rod was broken
With Thy dear bleeding heart,
Wherein all have a part;
While thence the ransomed earth is soaken,
And fountains living start.
But still I study in Thy school,
I pick out here a letter
And there another, as a tool
To shape me wise and better;
For not a lesson is as hard
As my own will against Thee barr'd,
Which hugs each naughty fetter.
But at the service that is freedom
I rudely pout and pine,
And cross the danger line
To seek forbidden fruits of Edom,
Instead of tasks Divine.
I pick out here a letter
And there another, as a tool
To shape me wise and better;
For not a lesson is as hard
As my own will against Thee barr'd,
Which hugs each naughty fetter.
But at the service that is freedom
I rudely pout and pine,
And cross the danger line
To seek forbidden fruits of Edom,
Instead of tasks Divine.
There is not very much to learn,
A line or two, a copy
For which we all at seasons yearn
When tired of pleasure's poppy;
That we may trace Thy footsteps hid
By shame and shadows bright, amid
The rabble rude and shoppy.
And if I look at Thee but blindly,
Yet Thou dost not forget;
And though my sins beset,
Thy hands beset me closer, kindly,
And teach the alphabet.
A line or two, a copy
For which we all at seasons yearn
When tired of pleasure's poppy;
That we may trace Thy footsteps hid
By shame and shadows bright, amid
164
And if I look at Thee but blindly,
Yet Thou dost not forget;
And though my sins beset,
Thy hands beset me closer, kindly,
And teach the alphabet.
O let me try upon my knees
To master what is simple,
Read with the murmur of the bees
And in a baby's dimple;
That tiny word of blessèd trust,
Which raiseth worlds that else were dust,
And ties the maiden's wimple.
Till I can build at last a sentence
In parts that fitly twine,
And prove its meaning mine—
The riches of a free repentance,
And human love Divine.
To master what is simple,
Read with the murmur of the bees
And in a baby's dimple;
That tiny word of blessèd trust,
Which raiseth worlds that else were dust,
And ties the maiden's wimple.
Till I can build at last a sentence
In parts that fitly twine,
And prove its meaning mine—
The riches of a free repentance,
And human love Divine.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |