One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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[“Dark is my place and chill the night] |
 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
132
[“Dark is my place and chill the night]
“Righteous art Thou, O Lord, when I plead with Thee, yet
let me talk with Thee of Thy judgments.”
“Dark is my place and chill the night,
No fire have I, nor candlelight;
Come down, make good to me Thy word,
O humble and right piteous Lord.
Like to a shadow my days are gone,
Me in this dimness shine upon,
Bring back the shadow in my sight,—
Let there be light, let there be light.
No fire have I, nor candlelight;
Come down, make good to me Thy word,
O humble and right piteous Lord.
Like to a shadow my days are gone,
Me in this dimness shine upon,
Bring back the shadow in my sight,—
Let there be light, let there be light.
“Righteous art Thou—and I am poor,
And know not good, but long endure;
I charge it not on Thee, blest Lord,
Enough for all Thy fields afford;
But some have much and other none,
The weak are robb'd, the mean undone,
And Thou abidest holy and strong,—
O Lord, how long? O Lord, how long?
And know not good, but long endure;
I charge it not on Thee, blest Lord,
Enough for all Thy fields afford;
But some have much and other none,
The weak are robb'd, the mean undone,
And Thou abidest holy and strong,—
O Lord, how long? O Lord, how long?
“There be who care not for Thy grace,
And hide them from Thy frowning face;
If they oppress, O Lord, forgive;
But what of them that in Thee live?
Oft pray Thy rich for us, yet hold
The mastery and increase with gold,
And we, as roots dried up past date,
Lie desolate, lie desolate.
And hide them from Thy frowning face;
If they oppress, O Lord, forgive;
But what of them that in Thee live?
Oft pray Thy rich for us, yet hold
The mastery and increase with gold,
And we, as roots dried up past date,
Lie desolate, lie desolate.
133
“Righteous art Thou; and they are Thine,
They counsel us in words divine;
But there is no meat and no meal,
And scant is work, and far is weal.
Wandering I go of hunger led,
Hither and thither seeking bread;
Ay, tossing like the salt sea foam,
Till I go home, till I go home.
They counsel us in words divine;
But there is no meat and no meal,
And scant is work, and far is weal.
Wandering I go of hunger led,
Hither and thither seeking bread;
Ay, tossing like the salt sea foam,
Till I go home, till I go home.
“Come down and sup with Thy poor friend
That is sore troubled; to me lend
A little comfort. Nay, good Lord,
Be not displeased—put up Thy sword;
It shall be as Thou wilt with me,
Only Thy goodness let me see;
Shine out and show in sweet advance,
Thy countenance, Thy countenance.”
That is sore troubled; to me lend
A little comfort. Nay, good Lord,
Be not displeased—put up Thy sword;
It shall be as Thou wilt with me,
Only Thy goodness let me see;
Shine out and show in sweet advance,
Thy countenance, Thy countenance.”
“Peace, thou poor soul, thy Lord is nigh—
Judge not My rich, I judge, even I;
Pray, rather, pray for them, and weep,
For trouble cometh and shall not sleep;
But I have chosen the poor to make
Heirs of my God, for mine own sake;
Ay, thou hast all! (O well is thee!)
For thou hast Me, for thou hast Me.”
Judge not My rich, I judge, even I;
Pray, rather, pray for them, and weep,
For trouble cometh and shall not sleep;
But I have chosen the poor to make
Heirs of my God, for mine own sake;
Ay, thou hast all! (O well is thee!)
For thou hast Me, for thou hast Me.”
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |