The Prisoner of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

The sun is breaking through the cloud,
The bud is breaking on its tree,
And breaking from His shining shroud
The great Christ cometh fair and free;
O watching weep, and weeping pray,
Dear brother, for thy break of day.

The ground is breaking with the Seed,
The awful Seed of living Life
Eternal, which is Life indeed—
The grave with new creation rife;
O praying watch, and watching weep,
Dear brother, waken from thy sleep.

The bonds are breaking one by one
Before His Resurrection Breath,
Which does what is for ever done
And showeth Love is more than death.
O weeping wake, and waking watch,
Dear brother, till He lift thy latch.

The bonds are breaking of our pain
And sorrow quite forgets its parts,
It is a blessing and no chain—
The ring and robe of wedding hearts;

114

O weeping watch, and watching wake,
Dear brother, till all shadows break.

The bars are breaking of our sin
And hell hath lost its fear and power,
For all the world is all akin
And every soul must burst in flower;
O watching weep, and weeping pray,
Dear brother, for the Truth and Way.

115

April 2 THE BREAKING

‘He was bruised for our iniquities: . . . and with his stripes we are healed.”—Isa. liii. 5.

Silence is breaking into song
And separation is no more,
For Love is Life itself and strong
And both the harbour and the shore;
O praying watch, and watching weep,
Dear brother, for Christ's wandering sheep.

The stream is breaking from its bed
And through the borders of our pride,
Its glory is upon us shed
And showered in Grace on every side;
O weeping wake, and waking watch,
Dear brother, the first gleams to catch.

The bread is breaking, as we eat
And take again His Blood and Flesh;
All hearts must break to be complete,
And die in Christ to live afresh.
O weeping watch, and watching wake,
Dear brother, till thine own doth break.

Deserts are breaking into dew,
The thorn remembers it's a bud.
Old times are breaking with the new,
And all because of Jesu's Blood;
Yea, through the wide and weary lands,
The Breaker as the Maker stands.

116

April 3 THANKSGIVING

“Be ‘anxious’ for nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”—Phil. iv. 6.

Father, I thank Thee that this life
Which is the better part of me,
Is vaster than all forms of strife
And like Thy Nature full and free;
That it can never have a bound
But that which is its one defence,
And knows no line of limit round
Except Thine own Omnipotence.

I thank Thee that for ever on
My spirit shall pursue its way,
And when this mortal bar is gone
Shall see before it brighter day;
That as I gain a grander sphere
I must myself yet greater grow,
Above the ranges that rise here—
Sweet things that satisfy below.

I thank Thee that with broadening arch
The future waxes fairer still,
And gathers in its glorious march
A purer balm for every ill;
That pains are jewels in Thy throne—
An earnest of the joys to be,
The tomb is but a stepping stone
Which brings me nearer unto Thee.

117

April 4 THANKS-LIVING

“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee.”— Isa. liv. 8.

Father, I thank Thee that the cloud
When reached becomes an open gate
For mightier motions, and the shroud
With these is incommensurate;
That time is just the varied web
Whereof I weave a vesture fit,
Which though its earthly portion ebb
Shall mingle with the Infinite.

I thank Thee that in no event
And no attainment ever won,
I may achieve a true content
Or feel my endless work is done;
That I must gaze with loftier look
At each new turn on something more,
And still turn pages in the book
Of blessing and its heavenly lore.

I thank Thee for the friendly thorn
Which now forbids my heart to rest
In lesser light than perfect morn,
Which is the sunshine of Thy Breast;
That whatsoe'er befalls the flesh
Faith can be fettered by no bond,
Or faileth to be born afresh
And find far higher heavens beyond.

118

April 5 THANKS-BUILDING

“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.”—Ps. cxxvii. 1.

Father, I thank Thee that I must
Expand the temple which I raise
For Thine indwelling out of trust,
And build yet nobler praise on praise;
That nothing fills me now or can
Compel to an enduring home,
Each moment magnifies Thy plan
And shows me purer bliss to come.

I thank Thee for the helpful flints
Which tear the feet with sordid aims,
And loving wounds that leave their prints
Upon the soul in grander claims;
When I would falter for a space
And dream of some poor false repose,
Or lose the vision of Thy Face,
If paradises here unclose.

I thank Thee for the purpose large
Which is a reflex of Thine own,
And carries me from marge to marge
To conquer still more worlds unknown;
That I shall nowhere anchor, save
Within Thine Arms which lift so high
My efforts now, and in the grave
When all seems lost are yet most nigh.

119

April 6 SPIRIT OF LOVE

“The fruit of the Spirit is love.”—Gal. v. 22.

Spirit of Love, in this Thine hour
Of pity and exceeding power,
Come to me like an altar fire,
And kindle in me growing grace
To look up in my Father's Face
With precious hope and pure desire.
O cleanse me from my clogging guilt,
And make me only what Thou wilt.

Descend—I cannot rise to Thee,
My will is wayward and not free
And now I have but broken wings;
Descend, in Mercy and in Might,
And raise me upward in Thy flight
To claim my heritage of kings.
Breathe into me the Living Breath,
Which cannot be except by death.

Spirit of Life, within me wake
A joyous wish for Jesu's sake,
To rise above this dust and dross,
And take each selfish thought of greed
Which biddeth not one soul “God speed,”
And nail it to the Blessèd Cross.
Wash me in Love, like burning flame,
Not all unworthy of Christ's name.

120

April 7 AARON'S ROD

“Behold, the rod of Aaron . . . brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds.”—Num. xvii. 8.

Art thou, dear brother, a dry stem
Without one gracious and green shoot?
Then go in faith to Bethlehem,
And rest on the Eternal root;
There, in the Mercy of thy God,
Blossom and bud like Aaron's rod.

Then turn thee to a darker sky
Where all looks sacrifice and loss,
And seek at solemn Calvary
That life which floweth from the Cross;
There, in the seeming doom and dearth,
Spring streams that water the whole earth.

Then pass unto the rocky tomb
And see its portals opened wide,
To learn how from death's awful womb
Comes Resurrection in its pride;
And, in the Saviour's risen strength,
Thou too shalt rise above at length.

The stem so long and sadly dry,
Behold, it puts forth fruit and hangs
A head that bears eternity,
And wears rich promise from thy pangs;
For who can be a barren rod,
If held and used by Mercy's God?

121

April 8 LOST AND FOUND

“This thy brother was dead, and is alive again.”—St. Luke xv. 32.

I was deaf and dumb, and severed wide
From His Goodness, but still He was near;
In my weakness walking at my side,
Calling till I answered and could hear.
I was deaf and dumb and flying,
But He bade me live though dying.

I was left so long in exile far,
Till His Mercy sought me though through fire—
Healed my wounds, and clothed each cruel scar
With the beauty of His own attire.
I was left, but now dim places
Are the Heaven of His embraces.

I was blind, but vision came at last
When the darkness deepest on me lay;
And forgiveness blotted out the past
With the sunshine of Eternal day.
I was blind, but now my seeing
Takes its light from His own Being.

I was dead and am alive again,
I was lost but by the Saviour found;
For He loved, and death He did ordain
Was the door to resurrection ground.
I was dead, but now am living—
Both are of His grace and giving.

122

April 9 NOTHING GOOD

“There is none that doeth good, no, not one.”—Ps. liii. 3.

Nothing of good, dear Lord, is mine
That I may offer Thee the thrift
Of hoarding years a Heavenly gift,
Till great Love maketh it Divine;
But O the Goodness, that doth lift
Me to Thy Heart and there enshrine.
Nothing, dear Lord, of mine is good
Ere gathered to Thy Fatherhood.

And when beneath the Cross I bear,
Which rather carries me, I feel
Passion and pain and blindly reel;
Though bitter are the thorns that tear
My tortured bosom, as I kneel—
Yet worthless all the wounds I wear;
No merit is there in one pang,
If on the Cross I ever hang.

My sorrows cannot purge me so,
Nor lies there virtue in the nails
Whereto I fly, when purpose fails
And leaves me in my shame below;
But by these Grace Divine prevails,
And brings the peace Christ doth bestow.
My honour is to bless the rod,
And yield the glory but to God.

123

April 10 A FRAGRANCE OFFERING

[_]

Leviticus ii. 1, 2.

“I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys.”—Sol. Song ii. 1.

High Priest, greater far than Aaron,
Who art Priest and Offering too,
Light of Lily, Rose of Sharon—
Whom by many names we woo;
Though my will be wild and vagrant—
Yea, and though upon my knee—
Yet, O yet let me be fragrant
Always, only, Lord, of Thee.

When I toil for Thee or tarry
Idle among slothful men,
May each look and gesture carry
Something of Thy Perfume then;
May my heart and home be meeter
Even when evil passions toss,
And the world around be sweeter
For the anointing of Thy Cross.

Make me, Lord, a pleasant savour,
A memorial but to prove
Thy Forgiveness, with the flavour
Of that most exceeding Love;
Make me, Lord, a pure oblation,
Sanctified and full and free,
One whole-hearted consecration
Now and evermore to Thee.

124

April 11 TRUTH AND YOUTH

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”—St. John viii. 32.

I felt the burden once of age,
I felt the curse of toiling,
And on my weary pilgrimage
Time fell with dim despoiling;
My work no longer took the form
Of willing hands, grown strong from storm.

I sometimes halted on the road,
The thorn-prick seemed too pressing,
And pierced me like some grievous goad
That used to be a blessing;
And sickness, that was my best friend,
Now rose a blank and bitter end.

Then, as I dragged my weary way
Along the path appointed,
Arose, when I had paused to pray,
My Lord with grief anointed;
He said, “Thy burden is too light,
Uplift My Cross, all will be bright.’

But thus I knew I needed more
And not a less affliction,
For in His Cross I daily bore
I found my benediction.
Thence have I learnt the living truth,
The Cross of Christ alone is youth.

125

April 12 BOOK OF THE HEART

“Whose is this image and superscription?”—St. Matt. xxii. 20.

God reads us like an open book
And marks the writing on each page,
He values every fleeting look
As even the longest pilgrimage;
Beneath the pageant of the part,
He weighs the secret of the heart.

Though sullied may be every line
And not a letter meetly made,
He sometimes sees a note Divine
And Glory bursting through the shade;
The fruitless day, the feeble shoot,
May have in Him a deeper root.

He counts not much the gallant show,
The dazzle of a dying wraith,
But asketh what is writ below
And seeks the hidden love and faith;
For the poor dark and troubled years,
Are watered oft with God-like tears.

What of the creases or the blot
That blurs the outward fact or form,
When splendid lives are moulded not
Except by unknown fire and storm?
God readeth us, we guess not where,
But looks to see His writing there.

126

April 13 CHRIST'S THRONE

“I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto Me.”—St. John xii. 32.

Bring out, bring out the royal Cross,
It is the Saviour's Throne,
He counteth this nor shame nor loss
And He must reign alone;
For none can suffer so but He,
And mortal might not share
The Love that sets the Kingdoms free—
His universal care.

Bring out, bring out the royal robe
Of wounds and cruel thorn,
And let the nails of Passion probe
His Spirit tost and torn;
For every sin of every time
Upon Him now is laid,
And all the sorrows of each clime
Are His and dearly paid.

Bring out, bring out the royal price
He asketh for His part,
The body's living sacrifice,
The broken contrite heart;
Bring out, bring out your willing all,
The bitter and the sweet,
That if again ye faint or fall
It may be at His Feet.

127

April 14 GOD'S MEASURE

“God giveth not the Spirit by measure.”—St. John iii. 34.

There is a measure in all things,
The prophet's part, the singer's air;
And tyrants are not truly kings,
Who scorn the uses free and fair;
There is a measure for us each,
And life lies ever in our reach.

There is a measure unto which
The proudest and the wise must bend,
And wealthy reapers are not rich
Unless they seek the loftiest end;
There is a measure true and tried,
For those that have with Jesus died.

There is a measure we may prove
By every act of every hour,
Which limits us where'er we move,
And shows mere wishes are not power;
There is a measure bright and blest,
If we but on the Promise rest.

But there's no measure to God's Love
Though we abuse it sore and long,
It's higher than the Heaven above,
And sets the weeping world to song;
O there's no measure, when we give
Ourselves to Christ in whom we live.

128

April 15 EASTER FIRE

“Your heart shall live for ever.”—Ps. xxii. 26.

My love is as a leaping fire
Which must run out its radiant course,
It points for ever to the Source
And loudly bids me yet aspire;
Go up, go up, it fondly sings,
And draw from the Eternal springs.

It burns within me a white flame,
It gathers fuel as it grows
From even the ill that round me flows,
And thrives by conquered sin and shame;
Go up, go up, it fondly cries,
Unto thine own infinities.

Consuming all the chaff it gives
New breath of being every hour,
It clothes me with the secret power
Of Love Divine through which it lives;
Go up, go up, it fondly says,
And leave the pretty primrose ways.

It cannot dwell with earthly dross,
It will not be by aught denied
Which keeps it from the Crucified,
It only pastures at the Cross;
Go up, go up, it fondly pleads,
And suffer where the Saviour leads.

129

April 16 WRITING IN DUST

“Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground.”—St. John viii. 6.

God speaketh through His earth and sky
To all who have the upward look,
In His fair Nature riddlingly,
And bids us read its open book;
For every little leaf or nook
Is stamped with His Divinity,
Each thing we greatly fear or woo
Must be some line or letter too.

But ere we spell a single word
On the broad space with wisdom set,
And ere His message may be heard
Which in the tiniest blade is met,
We must first learn His alphabet
And have the hearts within us stirred;
But when we truly love and trust,
We trace His lessons even in dust.

For Jesus did not write in vain
The one Epistle, that He wrote—
It lasteth, and we read through pain
Its teaching in the smallest note;
Upon the ground, in stars remote,
We see its parables again;
In every spot alive or dead,
The shadow of the Cross is shed.

130

April 17 CHILD VISION

“Except a man be born again, he cannot see.”—St. John iii. 3.

O to be once again a child
And with round eyes of wonder look
Out into all, yet undefil'd—
Each page of beauty in God's Book!
O to stand face to face, content,
With Nature and its noblest forms
Not mapt and marred, and battle-rent
By ethnic strife and squalid storms!

O to be once again a child,
And as the Maker just to mark
The primal thought, that reconcil'd
His discords of the light and dark!
O to possess the immediate sight
Which is not angels' and to know,
Without dim steps that stumble right,
The meaning of this maze below!

O to be once again a child
As Jesus was, and behind law
To touch the truths whereon He smil'd,
Ere blurred by sin or craven awe!
O to drink in without a bar
The joy and essence of each thing,
The secret of the stone or star
At the one solemn blessèd Spring!

131

April 18 SPRING

“I see a rod of an almond (wakeful) tree. . . Then said the Lord, . . . I will hasten (am wakeful over) my word to perform it.”—Jer. i. 11, 12.

The almond tree breaks into flower,
It feels the springtide's pulse and power
Through all its quickening frame;
Along each branch its blossoms run
And catch the kisses of the sun,
Bodied in bliss and flame.
And once more Aaron's prophet rod,
Blooms at the bidding of its God.

Lo, every bird is now a song
The fresher for its silence long,
And every leaf a lay;
The tiniest blade of trembling grass
Laughs as it feels the Spirit pass,
A green and living ray.
Up in its heaven of blue, the lark
Rains music from the dazzling dark.

Dear Father, may I feel Thy Spring
At heart, and in each upward wing
Of happy prayer and praise;
O make my soul burst into love
Rising to Thee my Home above,
And others with it raise.
Yea, let new shoots of stronger trust
Leap up, like altar fires, from dust.

132

April 19 THE CONTINUAL FEAST

“Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith.”—Prov. xv. 16.

Give me no wealth to drag my spirit down,
But grant a little, Lord, though toil be rough
And thought must often be a thorny crown—
Thy modest minus is for me enough.
I dare not deem that Paradise is lost,
Because one Eden veiled its virgin skies
And closed the gates that never could be crost—
To happy hearts each place is Paradise.

The plus of others only is a care
Without the Blessèd Cross that hallows all,
And rank or riches were a blinding snare
Lacking the saving loss and helpful fall;
Christ is my goodly treasure and the gold
I carry with me when this life hath past,
Nor would I let the world with lying hold
Lure me to ruin, earthward, and earth-fast.

Fragrance for sight and soul in every spot,
Colour and glow, within, without, are mine;
I could not live in darkness even a lot,
Devoid of form and grace that are Divine.
If Thou in Mercy sealedst up mine ear
And I were banished from the heaven of sound,
If light fled from me, Love enthroned more near
Would bathe me still in beauty all around.

133

April 20 PARADISE REGAINED

“Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come.”—Sol. Song ii. 11, 12.

Springtide has come with all the spells
That made the opening year so bright,
The mystic dance of shade and light,
The blooms that ring sweet Sunday bells;
No longer now by faith but sight,
We walk in Eden where God dwells;
Who builds, with happy tears and laughters,
His house of leafy walls and rafters.

But yesterday, it seemed, the snow
Lay on our gardens a white death
Or flew a sheeted shivering wraith,
And brooks refused to talk or flow;
We walked not then by sight, but faith
With looks above, yet feet below.
But here the birds like flowers are winging,
And there the flowers like birds seem singing.

God give us all the better choice
That ours may be the Mary's part,
Who learnt where every life must start
And blossomed at the Saviour's Voice;
God grant us springtide in the heart,
To bud and open and rejoice.
O may our love and life be vernal,
A Paradise of green eternal.

134

April 21 VICTORY OF FORGIVENESS

“There is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared.”— Ps. cxxx. 4.

We touched the human hem of Thee
In our creation, from the first;
At Calvary, Lord, we taste and see
The Fulness which can slake our thirst.
The Cross broke all our evil chains,
But, ah, the Mystery remains.

For O the guilt that cannot rest,
The sense of woe, the weary pain,
Are gathered to Thy healing Breast
And breathed on us in bliss again;
Thy Passion, which doth still atone,
Is suffered still by Thee alone.

Yea, Thou hast lifted each one whole
Into the Greatness of Thy Heart,
To purge His body, mind and soul—
By being of Him piece and part;
And Thou dost dwell in every one,
The secret Power, by service done.

Thine Order dim, yet so Divine,
Which I can hardly see but guess,
Contends with me to make me Thine
And raise to that dread Loveliness;
The centre of all life is loss,
And gains its virtue from Thy Cross

135

The care for right, sweet cravings, draw
Me though a rebel up and on,
Through doubts and darkness, to Thy Law
Of Mercy, till the night is gone;
Justice doth then unveil its face,
And shows me but Thy boundless Grace.

Thy Passion yet in every man
Who sins and suffers must endure,
While aught is wanting to the Plan
Which rests not ere it is secure;
I bowed not to the Judge's part,
But O Thy pardon breaks my heart.

136

April 22 CRUCIFIXION

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live.”— Gal. ii. 20.

Nail me, dear Lord, I ask no other tie,
Unto Thy Holy Cross;
I cannot guess Thy Love unless I lie
Closer to Thee and daily, hourly die,
And in Thy torments toss;
Nought else will keep me ever at Thy side
And purge me of self-will and sordid pride,
A whole and living loss.

Nail me, dear Lord, by many a bitter pain
Of something done or tried;
Thy sorrows only do I reckon gain,
I count no bliss so precious as the chain
Laid upon lusts defied;
Nothing will bind my flesh except it hangs
Ever with Thee on Calvary, in the pangs
Of pleasures there denied.

Nail me, dear Lord, yet faster with the nails
Thy Love doth suffer still;
By every earthly light that faints and fails,
And every Wound of Thine that now prevails
In anguish or through ill;
Only Thy Passion may redeem this clay,
Making each thought a thorn along the way
That crucifies my will.

137

April 23 ROYAL SERVICE

“Him that loved us . . . and hath made us kings and priests unto God.”—Rev. i. 5, 6.

God doleth not to us His little things,
He sows the night with music till it sings,
He giveth crowns—He kneels to us as kings.

God thrusts us into mouths of swords that slay,
He tries us in the furnace night and day,
But first He takes the edge and wrath away.

God leadeth us by strange paths unto Him
And through deep waters that we scarce can swim,
O'er many a desert and by crosses grim.

God makes the sinner who found joy in mire
Go burn in his own hell of hidden fire,
To burn out the last stain of least desire.

God guides us to the Precious Blood at last
And there breaks every bondage of the past,
In Love without a shore where sin is cast.

God, if we stumble, lets us fall on God
And the great mercy of His healing rod,
That quickens souls dead as the graveyard clod.

God calls us to Him and He bids us hark,
Until we soar to Heaven as doth the lark—
All song, all light, and all one dazzling dark.

138

God draweth us to Him through shade and shame,
He thus reveals the riches of His Name
And mouldeth us to life of tears and flame.

God kills us with the letter of His Law
To raise to Truth which angels never saw,
And quickens with the Wisdom that is awe.

God would we bear the burden of His Lore,
Which bruiseth men as wheat to make them more—
But, ah, the tale it crushed His Heart before.

God planteth thorns that in our lives have grown,
But none that He Himself hath not first known,
For all our sins and sorrows are His own.

139

April 24 GOOD AND EVIL

“The good that I would I do not, but the evil which I would not, that I do.”—Rom. vii. 19.

O Love, in mercy look on me;
Shall I not follow, and be free
To take the treasures Thou dost give?
But chained to this dead body lie,
A dying thing that cannot die—
A living thing that doth not live?
O break these endless links, the curse
That draggeth on from worse to worse.

What I have done is deadly blame,
But what I am is deeper shame
And adds the long entail of sin;
But Thou, who hast a Brother's heart,
Wilt never let me pine apart
When all my cares are so akin.
I ask no heaven, but just to be
Alone (though crucified) with Thee.

Save for Thy Cross I had not known
My God, nor found myself my own,
Nor burst the bondage and the yoke;
But the old nature with its fret
Still stirs at times, and would forget
That in Thine Agony it broke.
The world may whisper it is well,
I carry with me yet my hell.

140

April 25 COMMUNION OF SAINTS

“Our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.”—i St. John i. 3.

Not into dark, the loved and lost,
Though they have vanished from our sight
Beyond the grave which must be crost—
Ours is the shadow, theirs the light;
Not in the dust our darlings lay
Those precious features that have fled,
Nor know they pangs of dim decay—
They are the living, we the dead.

They only drop the weakness down
Purged of their grossness, and the pain
Which falls alike on cross or crown—
Ours is the losing, theirs the gain;
They would not change their perfect lot
Of open vision there for this,
Such freedom for the yoke and spot—
Ours is the burden, theirs the bliss.

O they are nigher to us now
Than ever they have been before,
In Christ, the bond of every vow—
We trust, they see Him and adore;
And in the Banquet of His Grace
We touch each other if we part,
Our spirits feel no bar of space
In sweet communion heart to heart.

141

April 26 CHRIST CRUCIFIED AFRESH

“They crucify to themselves the Son of God, . . . and put him to an open shame.”—Heb. vi. 6.

O must I once again be born
As erst into thy mortal flesh,
And piercèd be by hatred's thorn
Or with denial scourged afresh?
O must I carry still thy yoke,
Wherewith this Heart of Mercy broke?

O must I yet again be left
By all my servants sad and lone,
Beggared of joy, of peace bereft,
And with no pillow but a stone?
O must I, for my cruel kin,
Be offered yet a “curse” and “sin”?

O must I stoop again to shame
And with a daily torment burn
In fires that do blaspheme My Name
And to a cold false world return?
O must I die because I love,
And strive to draw lost souls above?

O must I come to earth again
And raise once more my bitter cry
To suffer what thy deeds ordain,
Dear sinner, yet on Calvary?
O must the Cross be lifted there,
To shed its shadow everywhere?

142

O yes, I would a thousand times,
If Love Divine could be so vain,
Suffer for all the coasts and climes
To bring one sinner home through pain;
O yes, such sacrifice were small,
Were I not Saviour now of all.

143

April 27 FALSE FRIENDSHIP

“Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.”— Ps. xli. 9.

If it were possible, that ought
Could truly to My Love be done,
By men for whom I never wrought
Redemption—if there could be one;
The sorrow were not such to bear,
As this great grief I always wear.

Could strangers wreak Me wrong or slight
And stab with bitter wounds of pain,
The shame, the burden were but light
And all their injuries would be vain;
But thou didst in My Grandeur play,
From childhood—and dost thou betray?

Mine own familiar friend, so sealed
At birth and with My very Cross,
To whom I day by day revealed
The bliss and beauty, wrought from dross;
This is the cruel sting, that thou
My chosen dost deny me now.

If it were possible that I
Could value any sinner less
Than worlds, and not enough to die—
His wounds might hardly need redress;
But thou, of Me a living part,
O would'st thou break this bleeding Heart?

144

April 28 CHRIST THE OUTCAST

“He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”— St. John i. 11.

When Jesus came to earth below
To make men Godlike too and free,
And gave what Heaven could but bestow
On those blue hills of Galilee;
They thrust Him from them unto death,
Even in His own dear Nazareth.

Foxes had holes, the bird its nest,
The leper knew a corner dim
For weary brow and wounded breast—
His earth had nowhere room for Him;
Against Him strove the wind and wave,
He found no shelter but the grave.

Yea, though He simply sought men's good
And lavished on them Living Bread,
Who as our High Priest loved and stood
Betwixt the dying and the dead;
Yet they that felt His mercies most,
Drave Him an exile from their coast.

O shall He Homeless walk the lands
Which reap the blessings He hath sown,
And plead in vain with piercèd Hands
For that which always was His own?
Shall He, our Fountain from the first,
Be yet the only one athirst?

145

April 29 DIVINE PURPOSE

“According to the eternal purpose which he purposed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”—Eph. iii. 11.

Through the long ages drawing near
Thy Purpose dawned to dazzling scope,
O Saviour from all earthly fear,
O Saviour to Eternal hope;
My heart, that hath for Thee been thirsting,
With its great love in bloom is bursting.

Thou art so wonderful and true
I cannot mark the world for Thee,
Thou art my Heaven of cloudless blue,
Whatever is in Christ I see;
There may be gains, there must be losses,
My path is milestoned with Thy Crosses.

If but one sinner felt the load
Of conscious guilt upon him laid,
That one would be the Saviour's road
And bear Him swiftly unto aid;
Thy Cross is now my only measure,
My only trust, my only treasure.

With Thee my riches are the pains
Which wean the soul from earthly things,
Ignatius-like I kiss my chains
Until they grow to heavenly wings;
I would not other glory given,
Than on Thy Crosses to be riven.

146

April 30 DIVINE SYMPATHY

“In all their affliction he was afflicted.”—Isa. lxiii. 9.

No word of mortal hath depicted
The sufferings which the Saviour bore,
In all affliction so afflicted,
In all our sorrow feeling more;
He was the World's Eternal Lover,
And now He wooeth us as well,
For day by day doth still discover
New love that makes a heaven of hell.

He was of old the great Refiner,
But He endured the most His flame,
And (if it could be) came Diviner
Out to fresh Glory from His shame;
The fires were fierce, the crosses cruel,
But (though for us) He tasted first
Each Passion and He was the Fuel,
And always for our love athirst.

He heareth now our fears and fretting
And with us stands in stormy flood,
If we forget Him unforgetting,
And offers still His Precious Blood.
No breach of law, no jot or tittle
Of wrong that troubles not our rest,
No least of sins however little,
But pierce with pain His bleeding Breast.