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

Fret not thyself, if sometimes now
The way uncertain seems and dark
And dangers face the venturous prow,
Thy battered boat is yet God's Ark;
For were the shadows ten times more,
Christ is the shelter and the shore
If thou would'st only trust and hark.

Fret not thyself, if round thee foes
Still rise like thunder-clouds and reach
Athwart a path of pains and woes,
And wound with many a bitter breach;
Not one, dear brother, could be spared—
All were by Love at first prepared,
And boundless blessings lie in each.

Fret not thyself, if trials toss
The spirit that would idly rest,
They are the drawing of the Cross
That lift thee closer to God's Breast;
The life thou seekest cannot come,
Unless thine be the way to Home
Through stormy straits but manifest.

148

Fret not thyself if waves wax rude
And winds grow very rough and high,
For in thy dread and solitude
O then the Saviour comes most nigh;
He measures every throb and thorn
Which first He hath in pity borne,
And stands betwixt each blow and sigh.

149

May 2 THE RESURRECTION OF THE FLOWERS

“He feedeth among the lilies.”—Sol. Song ii. 16.

The seed was sown, perhaps in tears,
And then the miracle appears
Where once was only desert dearth;
And from a hidden realm and root
Leaps into life the tender shoot,
Out of its chambers in the earth;
It gathers grace of light and air,
And laughs to find itself so fair.

Ah, it may have a vision sweet,
Unmarked by us, of Holy Feet
Which are for ever passing by;
And washing these in dainty dew,
With kisses, it may thus renew
Its glories at eternity;
For when they break the scentless sod,
The flowers reflect the Face of God.

Each is a little word or line
Of the great Mystery Divine,
Each has a lesson in its look:
The varying hue, the virgin green,
To humble hearts that spell between
Are Revelation's open book;
And still the Spirit moves in might,
For those that have the secret sight.

150

May 3 CHRIST IN HIS FLOWERS

“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”— St. Matt. vi. 29.

O every year on hill and plain
Christ in His flowers is born again,
As out of darkness and the dust;
And in their rainbow-petaled seat
His Resurrection they repeat,
And quicken faith to firmer trust;
In purity, however dim,
Their little cradles carry Him.

Their smile is His, their fragrant breath
Tells of the love that conquered death,
And conquers, if the church bell tolls;
Their garmenting is His and gleams
With other unforgotten dreams,
To which the world rejoicing rolls;
And in the beauty of each part,
We guess the goodness of His Heart.

By tender colour, modest curve,
He gently calls us when we swerve
Back to His own one resting-place;
That we may feel within us grow
The pledge of all our peace below,
His everlasting shoots of Grace;
Till we are for His garden meet,
Where He may walk with Holy Feet.

151

May 4 THE WORD AND THE MAN

“The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”—St. John vi. 63.

Open mine eyes, to see the wondrous things
Which lie within Thy Law;
O Blessèd Spirit, break these foolish wings
With wise and holy awe;
That I may find what was forbidden kings,
And prophets never saw;
Here are high truths, whereto our faith hath clomb,
Sweeter than honey and the honeycomb.

Thy Word no letter is, but Living Man
Of very blood and flesh;
Here is the Christ, and God's all-perfect plan
To loose sin's iron mesh,
And show the prisoners what Love dares and can
To give them birth afresh.
God blinds us first to every lower sky,
That we may hunger for Eternity.

This precious book is big with dreadful lore,
Beyond the sage's sight;
Humanity throbs here, and meekness more
Than armies in their might.
And here all times renew their strength and store,
At the Eternal Light.
God lets us follow husks, for bread bruise stone,
And starves our hearts to feed on Him alone.

152

May 5 STRIVING AND PRAYING

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”— St. Matt. xxvi. 41.

I strive, I strive from early morn,
I pray, I pray till dewy eve;
The flesh is still a fretting thorn
Which Thou, Lord, only canst relieve;
The good I will I cannot do,
The ill I never would I must
And all my best is tainted too,
But yet in Thee I simply trust.

I rise with grand resolves to raise
My banner in the Blessèd Cross,
And build around the walls of praise
Within a heart all purged from dross;
And then when comes temptation's test,
The first least trial that may be,
I seek no refuge in Thy Breast
But fly to pleasures false from Thee.

Ah, take this treacherous will of mine,
Father, and blend it with Thine own,
And into this dark nature shine
With Thy full Love as yet unknown;
That when wild passions fain would pull
Downward my trust so sadly tried,
Filled with Thy Presence Beautiful,
I may in Thee be satisfied.

153

May 6 LOVE AND DEATH

“Having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end.”—St. John xiii. 1.

It cannot be that Love is dead,
Even if He suffered shame and loss,
And bowing low that sacred Head
Gave up His Life upon the Cross;
It cannot be that Love so high,
Although Himself He would not save,
Should pass away with the last sigh
And hide His Glory in the grave.

It cannot be that Love who built
A holy Temple for us all,
Who bore the ages' crimes and guilt
And laid in Blood each blessèd wall;
It cannot be that Love shall lie
For ever low within the dust,
And like these mortal bodies die
When charged with such a solemn trust.

It cannot be that Love is less
One moment than it was before,
Or quenched with its great Loveliness
The Light that lighteth sea and shore;
Nay, Love has triumphed over pain
And hell and every evil bond,
Our Brother died to live again—
Was lost to be for ever found.

154

May 7 SORROW

“Godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of.”—2 Cor. vii. 10.

When sorrow came to me one day
I said, “O be my sister,
And with me hourly watch and pray!”
Then, stooping low, I kiss'd her.
And therefore in my heart she since has dwelt,
Fed at one table, at one altar knelt.

But, ah, she hath a different name
To me in secret spoken,
Heard not until with utter shame
My stubborn heart was broken;
I knew not what was lasting joy before,
But now with thanks I suffer and adore.

O she is very kind and sweet,
She bids me care for others,
And wash with tears the beggars' feet
As though they were my brothers;
She shows me awe and reverence are most wise,
And through the valley to the mount we rise.

She often does not tell me much—
I feel diviner motions,
A softer tone, a human touch,
Deeps opening in devotions;
She works in all I do like mystic leaven,
Her spirit seems the very breath of Heaven.

155

May 8 BENDING OF THE BOW

“When I have bent Judah for me, filled the bow with Ephraim.”—Zech. ix. 13.

O Master, daily should I bow
And stumble but for Thy dear sake—
Yea, even while speaking; hold me now;
For, in Thy Hand, I cannot break.
And if I stoop, may only toil
Compel me and no touch of sin;
When I would cleave the stony soil,
And only stoop with Thee to win.

If under Thy kind Cross I faint
And pass through many a bitter death,
Because of this sore fleshly taint,
I know Thy Mercy lies beneath.
And it is lovely, Lord, to find
Thy precious burden on me press,
And know (though I be often blind)
The Cross is Thy most sweet caress.

Ah, sometimes take me in Thine Arms
And with my weakness fill Thy Bow,
That I may dread no more alarms
And on Thy service speed below;
Yea, Master, I would dare to ask
To be Thy Bow in Pity sent,
If little for no little task,
And in Thy battles only bent.

156

May 9 LOSING AND GAINING

“What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”—St. Matt. xvi. 26.

It seemed that I had only lost
My earthly treasures and their trust,
When swelling Jordan's floods were crost
And left behind each earthly lust;
What in the purging had I won,
When the last sacrifice was done?

Upon the altar I had laid
My love and life and every breath,
And though my heart was sore afraid
I passed the shadow that is death;
Above the Cross, with awful arms,
Stood betwixt me and worldly charms.

Friends had forsaken me, and kin
Turned from me in my trial hour,
While sweeter ways and pleasant sin
Broke at my feet in scarlet flower;
What had I gained but cruel scorn,
Who gave the blossom for the thorn?

But ere the murmur quite was shaped
Or I had uttered the regret,
I saw the pit I had escaped
And how with Grace I was beset;
I found myself, my soul, my Love,
And offering all reaped all above.

157

May 10 NOT FOR MYSELF

“Jesus . . . who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame.”—Heb. xii. 2.

Not for myself, O dearest Lord,
Not for the glory or the gain
I clasp Thy Cross and welcome pain,
And lean my breast upon Thy Sword—
That it might smite and smite again,
Or give my heart a broken chord;
Not for the fame or finger pointed,
Am I by Thee with grief anointed.

Not for myself or even to swell
A brother's joy though that is dear,
I take from him the pressing fear
And carry mine with his as well—
Or wipe away the orphan's tear,
And bear the outcast's lonely hell;
Not for the world's poor passing fashion,
Dost Thou fill me with Thy compassion.

Not for myself or heaven and bliss
Or dread of future wrath and woe,
I hail a friend in every foe
And answer blows with but a kiss;
The petty thorn, the earthquake throe,
All pangs, can never come amiss;
I live, I die, I yield each treasure,
Because I love to do Thy Pleasure.

158

May 11 IS IT NOTHING?

“Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger.”—Lam. i. 12.

Is it nothing,
All ye sinners passing by,
I have given you food and clothing
While My shelter is the sky,
And a stone my bitter bed?
That this robe is Agony,
Worlds of sorrow bow My Head?
Is it nothing,
All forsake Me—all have fled?

Is it nothing,
That I loved you tenderly
And am Outcast now for loathing,
With no rest or remedy?
I who lived such daily loss,
Go to greater Agony
And the Passion of the Cross?
Is it nothing,
Hell and horror round me toss?

Is it nothing,
I who dying cannot die
Here must make my grim betrothing
With your grey mortality?
I immortal yield My Breath—
In Divinest Agony,
To the human touch of Death?
Is it nothing,
I for you trod Heaven beneath?

159

May 12 IF I WERE GOD

“Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it?”—Amos iii. 6.

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil.”—Isa. xlv. 7.

It I were God, saith foolish man,
I would have made an easier road
And life itself a simple plan,
Without one dark or weary load;
I would not leave a tiny sting
Or thorn to give a moment's pain,
While every slave should be a king
And none disfigured by a stain;
The gold should have no clinging dross
To make the labourer but a thrall,
Nor would I let a single cross
Throw its dread shadow over all.

If I were man, I would despise
The slothful dream, that hopes to win
(But not by struggling) Paradise—
To open and to enter in;
I would not be content to take
Whate'er I could and pay no price,
And hold Eternity (the stake),
Not worth a tear for sacrifice;
I would not value what no loss
Achieved or care to call it mine,
Nor wear the crown without the Cross
Nor let man be less than Divine.

160

May 13 FALLEN HUMANITY

“I could wish . . . myself accursed from Christ . . . for my brethren.”—Rom. ix. 3.

“The Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.”— Rev. xiii. 8.

Humanity in Adam fell
Though it was ever truly Mine,
And in a measure I as well
Had fallen were I not too Divine;
Yea, I for sinners so made Sin
Who hung upon the Cross as Curse,
That thus the new life might begin,
Could almost sin to save from worse.

From earth's foundation I was slain
Lest man eternally should die,
And felt from far that future pain
A living presence round me lie;
The Cross an awful Shadow then
Was flung upon Me from the first,
Ages of ages ere came men
For unborn souls I was athirst.

But could I very God not be,
And could I ever sin at all,
Then to set hopeless captives free
For man indeed his God might fall;
Yet how should evil wash out ill
And whence should splendid wrong make right,
A Sinner be a Saviour still
Or darkness lead one soul to Light?

161

May 14 THE CUP

“O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 42.

There is a Cup, the Saviour drank,
Who drained it to the very lees,
We take from God and humbly thank
When shadow falls and sunshine flees;
The sorrow which doth make the king
Who would be crowned by suffering
And knowledge which alone is rank.

We all must deeply drink the cup
Of grief, if we would enter in
Christ's fellowship which raiseth up
The souls redeemèd from their sin;
And then, when we have tasted death
In Him and trodden it beneath,
With God Himself at last we sup.

If it be possible, we say,
Let this affliction from me fly,
And bid me walk some softer way
Than that of Christ's own Agony!
But there is Grace sufficient then,
For God is merciful to men—
And Heaven is opened as we pray.

162

Himself in trial by us stands
And strengthens us to bear it all,
The Cup He holdeth in His Hands
And on His Bosom breaks our fall;
He drinketh too the bitter first,
And leaves the sweetness for our thirst—
Who gives the powers with the commands.

163

May 15 A DEAD GOD

“Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him.”—Rom. vi. 9.

If it might be, then God Himself could die
Of sorrow for our sin,
And in the grave of great compassion lie
For love of human kin;
As on the earth the Saviour took our stain
In His stupendous part,
Not by the spear or sharper mocking slain
But of a Broken Heart.

If it might be, God would in utter woe
At the long thankless Life,
Stricken to death by friends and by no foe
Stoop to His altar knife;
Rejected by redeemèd ones, dethroned
By children whom He wrought,
For whom through endless cycles He atoned
So often and for nought.

If it might be, God could deny the God
Or cast aside His crown,
And smitten by His Love's recoiling rod
Lay all His Glory down;
And in the ashes of each star and sun,
A fitting funeral dress,
He could entomb the work He has begun—
If He loved sinners less.

164

May 16 THE VISION

“Wherefore I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision.”—Acts xxvi. 19.

He that has once stood on the Mount of Vision,
And seen from there the parting of all ways—
Of nights and days;
And has made once for ever the decision
Which only comes to him who greatly wills
To do the right, that he in God fulfils
Humbly who prays;
He that has marked the watershed of things
And marges mortal,
Can feel no more the petty strife and stings
From that high portal—
For he has drunk of the eternal springs.

He cannot be the same, he holds God's measure,
The little now is little, and the great
His sole estate;
He may not honour aught or choose a treasure
Save truth itself, which is his daily trust,
And shows him jewels though within the dust
Not maculate.
He carries with him thus a secret light,
A clue of glory,
And cannot thence forget the solemn sight
For a less story
Than that which armours him in mystic might.

165

Not disobedient to the heavenly vision,
He weighs the world in balances more fine
Because Divine;
And heeds no front of danger or derision
Which are to him the passing of a breath,
And at the last he fondly finds in death
Sweet discipline.
For he has seen the Truth unveiled and stood
High on the Mountain
With very Christ, and proved His Grace a good
And living Fountain—
Gathered to God in the One Fatherhood.

166

May 17 REFLECTED LIGHT

“And the children of Israel saw the face of Moses, that the skin of Moses' face shone.”—Exod. xxxiv. 35.

O when, dear brother, thou hast loved the Highest,
And been transfigured at the Cross's throne
That doth atone;
Then come what may (or life or doom) the nighest,
Still must thou bear the sacramental seal
Within thy heart, the light that slays to heal
In love alone;
And all thy work for ever has a touch,
A tone of splendour
Alien to others who have dared not such
A whole surrender—
For thou hast seen God's Face and lovèd much.

But, ah, the greater price shall yet be given
For this grand knowledge, if thou takest up
Christ's awful cup
And wilt in Sorrow's Fellowship be shriven;
There may endure no lower earthlier tie,
When thou with Him would'st daily live and die
And fasting sup;
For he that loveth most doth suffer most,
Not in vain seeming,
To rule by service in the saintly host
For hearts' redeeming—
And every path must be a Pentecost.

167

For him no more the common and the meaner,
But still the larger look, the Peace untold,
The human hold
That leaves the world by his white passage cleaner;
And from his purer presence near or far,
In richer rays, shall fall as from a star
Light manifold.
Not for himself can he henceforward toil
But just for others,
He only gleans through losses Love's own spoil
That makes men brothers—
And with his life he feeds the holy oil.

168

May 18 LOVE

“Love is strong as death.”—Song of Sol. viii. 6.

“Neither death, nor life, . . . . shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ.”—Rom. viii. 38, 39.

There is no death for Love, the little word
Spoken by thee in tenderness and truth,
Unseen, unheard,
Yet in far ages shall renew its youth;
In other hearts and homes it travels on
A temple light,
And it shall shine when suns themselves are gone
Making earth bright.

There is no waste in Love, the little deed
Done for a brother is in him fresh life,
A golden creed,
Some day to strengthen thousands for the strife;
It is a pebble dropt in oceans vast,
And broadens out
Ripples that run (when falsehoods long have past)
To ransom doubt.

There is no loss by Love, the little thought
Or prayer that deems another's grief its own,
In heaven was wrought.
To conquer kingdoms if itself unknown;
The soul that loveth reigns and yet shall guide
Glories to be,
God ever rules by him, and at his side
Shapes kingdoms free.

169

May 19 OVER ALL TIME

“He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is Love.”— i St. John iv. 8.

There is no bound to Love; the little touch
Of this breaks iron doors and brazen bars;
And O for such
One moment here, and then beyond the stars!
It hath no root in earthly rest or space,
Heedeth no clime,
And sends the morning of its sunny face
Over all time.

There is no peace with Love; its little toil
Endures, while last immortal hopes to win;
It gathers spoil
Of stony natures, which have gems within;
The sterile bosom, though so blind to all,
An empty cup,
Opens wide windows to its gracious call
And blossoms up.

There is no death for Love; its little ways,
Like crimson threads, run through our deserts drear;
Sometimes it prays,
And sometimes drops in dust a fruitful tear;
None may oppose a waft of its white hands,
That bring heart's ease
Our children's children, and for unborn lands
And unmapt seas.

170

May 20 THE SOLITUDE OF GOD

“O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 39.

O awful Sight that bids us veil the face
And darkly look through tears,
To see our Lord thus left alone in space
To burdens of all years;
Self-exiled from His Father for a while,
Because He loved so well,
As if the very Heaven forgot to smile
And earth tolled its last knell.
Homeless in His own world, denied the least,
Until His people found
Among their tenderer mercies to the beast
Room for His burial-ground.
O could men fashion a more cruel rod,
For their poor suffering solitary God?

Behold, the Maker by His creatures left
And to the utmost tried,
Of roof and rest and friend and faith bereft
Whether He lived or died;
Deserted by His dearest, torn and tost
By every mortal throe—
'Mid silence, doom, and growing darkness lost
In that grey Garden woe.
The stones arise and strike His wounded Feet,

171

And the dim olive bough
Forsakes its use, as if it were more sweet
To buffet His dear Brow.
The very worms fret through the crumbling clod,
And crawl contemptuous round the Dying God.

The moon looks down in cold relentless glare
Upon the Lord of Love,
And even the rhythmic stars appear to stare
In scorn from bliss above;
The message of the wind so fair and fresh
Seems to afflict him more,
It falls like lashes on the quivering flesh
Which bleeds at every pore.
The merry bubble of the distant brook
Sounds mocking to His ear,
And shakes the Blessèd Form that never shook
In any human fear.
And the bright flowers, that burst the scented sod,
Bring altars but no incense to their God.

172

May 21 THE AGONY

“It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief.” —Isa. liii. 10.

Not only man, His friends that idly slept
Nor watched one little hour,
But all the sweets of nature which He kept
Fresh with His shine and shower,
Seem now against Him and deny the Hand
Which painted every hue,
As if in serried hostile lines they stand
When they do not pursue;
Nay, ghostly trees as prisoning bar and bolt
Seem drawing death-like round,
And still brute matter stirs in dumb revolt
On that grim battle-ground.
The very sandals, with which Christ is shod,
Feel fires beneath that would destroy their God.

But this were nought to many-centuried sin,
The troubles of all time
Which are and are not His, nor here begin
To add their curse sublime.
Wherever now in dreadful thought He turns
Some evil thing steps near,
And not a spot throughout broad Space but burns
A hell of guilty fear.
He sees a shadow in the cleanest life,
And in the cloistered saint
Shut out from earth and common sordid strife
Some secret leprous taint.
O each vile feeling falls, as if it trod
Down on the Heart of the Dethronèd God.

173

May 22 THE TRIUMPH

“Be of good cheer; I have overcome.”—St. John xvi. 33.

Each wicked word or deed, that was or yet
Shall be in future days,
Weighs on Him—with their wrath He is beset,
Even as He pleads and prays;
Yea, all afflictions from their fiery seat
Their hate in Him enthrone,
The waves and billows of the darkness beat
Upon His breast alone;
He stands Himself and with no helper nigh
Betwixt men and their doom,
And not a tear and not a trembling sigh
But swells the growing gloom.
The sick world faints, the hills of Sion nod,
And the foundations fail their Outcast God.

Then draws an Angel near to comfort Him
Who wrestles with our shame,
When earth and Heaven in chaos seem to swim,
And Sorrow is his name.
His message is, that Christ must suffer more—
Must drink the cup of death
And drain the utmost lees of bane, before
He tastes the joy beneath.
And in that strength of purpose those blind Hands
Upraised to the blank sky
Clasp the great Cross whereon Creation stands
In conquering Agony.
And now becomes His blessèd staff, the rod
Which God in Love and Mercy lays on God.

174

May 23 DAN'S PORTION

“A portion for Dan.”—Ezek. xlviii. 1.

“He is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.”—Ps. lxii. 2.

Think not, dear brother, that no toil
Awaits thee in God's boundless Plan,
To win sweet harvests from the soil
And blossoms which no other can;
For He, who laboured and was Man
Like us, hath left thee greater spoil
Than ever He from niggard lands
Drew forth in Love with human Hands.

There is a work, which only thou
Canst do among the millions here,
Who trace more furrows on the brow
And breast than in their earthly sphere;
Ah, somewhere life is sad and sere,
Because thou may'st not o'er it bow;
And servants, whom no duties ask,
But mar thy one eternal task.

And at God's Table is a seat
Which none but thou canst truly fill,
Where with the Master thou shalt eat
Who mad'st His Pleasure just thy will;
From everlasting thine and still,
After the burden and the heat,
There is a corner nigh the Throne
For thee and thee and thee alone.

175

May 24 GOD'S STRANGE WORK

“For the Lord shall rise up. . . . that he may do his work, his strange work; and bring to pass his act, his strange act.”—Isa. xxviii. 21.

God in His goodness makes us do strange things,
He drives us to the wilderness for bread
Or bids us from the rock find water springs,
And cries we cannot live till we are dead;
He saves us, through the flames we would deny,
From judgment only in it and thereby.

The shadow of his chastening is our sun
And pleasures that will last are born of pain,
The fancied end is pilgrimage begun
And from the husks of loss we gather grain;
The cruel wrong proves our most blessèd right,
And in the weakness of the Cross grows might.

God says, “Be emptied if ye would be filled,
And in the silence hearken to My Voice,
Cease working and My Vineyard shall be tilled
And out of sorrow learn ye to rejoice;
Yea, idly were each service by thee done,
Till every act is Christ and self is none.”

He leads us through the Passion to the palm
And by the desert to the land of rest,
Plucks from the tempest its white soul of calm
And smooths a pillow on the breaker's breast;
His choicest blessing is the hardest blow,
The gate of Heaven some little grave below.

176

May 25 NOUS REVIENDRONS

“Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.”—Ps. cxvi. 7.

Our spirits burn
Within us at the thought of Grace,
Which hath for every one a place
In the rich Plan which our Redemption brings;
We will return
To God who is our Dwelling-place,
Feeling the waft of more than angel wings
That bid us rise unto our right as kings.
There is no other
In whom our hearts can truly home and rest,
Than Christ our Brother
Who bare in John all lovers on His Breast.

We cannot spurn
The patience of that piercèd Hand,
The Kindness more than a command
Which fain would gather us from evil stress;
We will return
To God who is our Fatherland,
And only asks these little lives to bless
In the calm light of His great Loveliness.
O we have squandered
The precious years and walked by byeways dim,
But while we wandered
He yet was leading us safe back to Him.

177

May 26 GIVE AND FORGIVE

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death.”—Phil. iii. 10.

Give us Thy Mercy whence we live,
The light whereby alone men see;
And of Thy goodness, Lord, forgive
The faithless prayers we lift to Thee.
That love, the dearest did withhold,
Pour out on them a hundredfold.

Give us Thy Wisdom whence we dare
To do our best and noblest things,
And tuck us under Thy broad Care
Which is more sweet than angel wings;
With loss, from which our darlings fly,
Bless us instead and crucify.

Give us Thy Justice and Thy Fear
That we may play a Godlike part,
In discords which we do not hear
Above the beating of Thy Heart;
And rest, which for us cannot come,
To others grant and be their Home.

Give us Thy Presence, without which
We are but dead or dying men,
That we may wax exceeding rich
And find Thy Grace sufficient then;
The joy, ourselves we would not ask,
Mete to Thy mourners at their task.

178

May 27 RETRO AD CRUCEM

“Lest they should suffer persecution for the cross of Christ.”— Gal vi. 12.

Back to the Cross our place and power,
Back to the Fountain of our faith,
Where in its glorious crimson flower
Love triumphed over life and death;
There never was or would be hope,
Unless it climbed the Calvary slope.

Back to the great Obedience learned
Only in that exceeding stress,
By holy hunger which has yearned
To know the law of Holiness;
Back to the old eternal springs,
Where all who come are crownèd kings.

Back to the Judgment upon sin,
Back to the sense of something more
Than sorrow, if ye would begin
A brighter path than that before;
There are no lessons, like the nails
And thorns, through which the Truth prevails.

Back to the Cross, our proper place
Which reads its own great riddle thus,
When man exalted is by Grace
And God is humbled then in us;
Back to the Passion, till we feel
Christ's very wounds as there we kneel.

179

May 28 OUR HABITATION

“Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort.”—Ps. lxxi. 3.

It is a blessed truth that all
In God's great Mercy find a place,
And no one ever was too small
Or could be outside His embrace;
For though His greatness hath no marge
And worlds on worlds within it dwell,
His Strength it stoops to childhood's charge
And shrinks the Ocean to the shell.

His awful Step that hath no bound
Keeps time and tune with baby feet,
And in the lowliest roof or round
He feels no frailty quite unmeet;
And, if he speaks in thunder, yet
His only is the still small voice,
Nor do we own one human debt
Which was not first His heavenly choice.

For to be Very Man He dared
Be something more than God while less,
And in our shadow which He shared
He breathed the light of Perfectness;
And thus the sinner in the mire
With him who holds the saintliest part,
Do hail one home and altar fire
In the white Sanctuary of His Heart.

180

May 29 OMNIPOTENCE AND THE ASS

“An ass tied, and a colt with her: loose them, and bring them unto me . . . The Lord hath need of them.”—St. Matt. xxi. 2, 3.

Omnipotence came down in Love,
Forgat the royal robes, and then
Moved as an equal among men
To lead them from blind ways above;
God, in His boundless heavenly shore,
Still felt a want of something more.

Eternity had failed to fill
The greatness of His gracious Breast,
Which could not in its riches rest
And craved a touch of mortal ill;
Therefore the Potter sought His clay,
Just to be moulded to its way.

Infinity, that knew no bound
And dwelt in Light without a shade,
Stooped to the humblest thing He made,
And help in utter weakness found;
So the Creator in His grief,
Came to the creature for relief.

Perfection once confest a need,
And gathered of the very low
A blessing man could not bestow—
The service of a simple deed;
God, whom the world cannot contain,
Was by His beast throned God again.

181

May 30 PRAISE-LIVING

“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, praise his holy name.”—Ps. ciii. 1. P.B.

Praise God for all that He hath given,
Praise God for what is yet denied,
Praise God for mercy to the shriven
That comes but to the crucified;
Praise Him for blessing and affliction
And the dear chastening of His rod,
For trouble's secret benediction—
Praise ever and praise only God.

Praise God for sweets that He hath taken,
Praise God for suffering from His Hand,
For storms by which our souls are shaken
And hourly shaped to His command;
Praise Him for good things and the bitter
Or what our blindness deems is such,
For pangs that leave us fair and fitter
To answer His expectant touch.

Praise God for precious fires of sorrow
And falls that prostrate powers to raise,
For sunny morn or sadder morrow—
If death your portion, be it praise.
Praise God for sickness or for healing,
Praise Him for refuge in the rod
Which is His Son's most blessèd sealing—
Praise ever and praise only God.

182

May 31 TRUST

“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”—Job xiii. 15.

If all the world were densely sown
With shadows dark and troubles deep,
And everywhere rose rocks unknown
Or bounds that bade the watchers weep;
A myriad bars, unopened out,
Would never breed a single doubt.

If on my way like lions stood
The wrongs wherewith the earth is rife,
To show the Father was not good
Nor heeded once our little life;
No cloud would dim my heavenly sky,
Though even Creation were to fly.

If the ten thousand foes that frame
This mortal path on either side,
Denied or mocked the Holy Name
And built new Babels in their pride;
While reason trembled on its throne,
I would believe though left alone.

If fear or learning gave the lie
To what my love and conscience prove,
And if in darkness I should die,
Faith would endure that nought might move;
For death, whatever were the pain,
Would only be new birth and gain.