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Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold

By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition

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HIS POEM ARE WE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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181

HIS POEM ARE WE.

Eph. ii. 10.

'Tis written in the Book which cannot lie,
And will our beacon be,
While lesser lights of earth must droop and die—
“Poem of God are we;”
Made to express the greatness of the plan,
The image sure of Him,
Divinity, that hath a home in man,
However it be dim;
Meant for a witness to the truth, that yet
Is the long ages' cry,
And our God's being, who in hearts hath set
His own eternity.
Am I “His poem,” reflex of the will,
All-gentle and all-just?
And do my wishes His re-echo still,
In simple child-like trust?
Ah! do my hands that often fret and strain,
With His grand working rhyme,
And evermore beat out (if even through pain),
The old sweet heavenly chime?
Aud do my wayward steps delight to be
One, up the Calvary slope,
With His who richly there has wrought for me
A future and a hope?
God is the Poet, and He works in us
To walk His glorious ways,
To think and do His righteousness, and thus
Bring in the better days;
He builds us up high in the eternal scheme,
Word joined to living word,
Each in his place part of the song supreme,
By the pure spirit heard;
Verse matched with verse, in loving order laid
To shape a holy shrine—
Precept on jewelled precept strongly stayed,
Line upon golden line.

182

Oh, daily would He polish me, and bright
And brighter make my track,
Who gives a lustre in the darkest night,
To lead his wanderers back;
And hourly doth He mould me to the form
Of the fair final grace,
By iron strokes of the distressful storm,
That veils a Father's face;
Till purified by loss, my soul He draws
In a yet tenderer tie,
“His poem” breathing but His perfect laws—
Poem that cannot die.