The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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April 18
SPRING |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
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.
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.
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.
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.
The Prisoner of Love | ||