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

Is it nothing that sweet flowers
Are a-shining in the showers,
And the honey-bee is hidden by the shadow of the lime?
I can see the daisies grow
From their roots divine below,
At the shaping of the Spirit that is older far than Time;
Not a thistle, not a thorn
But is herald of a Morn
Which will come and now is gleaming on the dimness of our clime,
When the buttercup will be
Like an angel bright and free,
And the twitter of the sparrow one with the Eternal Chime.

There is meaning in the clod
As the dwelling-place of God,
And an awful air of mystery and passion in the least;
For a miracle in all
Whether bridal or a pall,
At the wedding of the moonbeams or the mating of the beast,
Glimmers forth on faithful eyes
Spelling those infinities,

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Which are present for the pure and a never-finished feast;
O a margin and a gate
Broaden in the lowliest fate,
Like the windows in our bosoms which are open to the East.

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June 2 SEEDS OF TRUST

“That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die.”— 1 Cor. xv. 36.

Is it nothing that the dust
Cannot kill the seeds of trust,
And the midnight at its darkest carries yet a burning lamp?
For each burden has a rest
And a beauty in its breast,
Which bears signatures of Justice and the Deity's own stamp;
And the armies of the wind
From the Arctic unto Ind,
Are the forces of Omnipotence at play that round us camp;
While the Destinies yet share
With our common things and care,
And the pauper with his pottage and the beggar on his tramp.

I am sure the very shroud
Is a marriage robe, and cloud
But a garment of the Glory which has everywhere a trace;
In the murmur of the bee
And the dewdrops which the tree
Hangs as jewels from the branches by its gossamers of grace,

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I can read the riddle true
With the wonder of its clue,
While I bathe my soul in splendour and the roses blue of space.
For all nature is a mask
Of the Father at His task,
While we guess what is the fulness from the glimpses of His Face.

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June 3 MESSAGES

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time.”— Eccles. iii. 11.

Is it nothing that the wake
Of the butterfly or snake,
In their curves and in their colours bring a message more than sweet?
That no little leaf can fall
But upon my soul, and all
Is instinct with the Divinity around and at our feet?
That the earth and Heaven are nigh
As the bosom to the sigh,
And in even the form of squalor is an angel grand to greet?
While I may not, cannot flee
From the Presence fair and free,
Which the saddest and the solitary yet at last will meet?

If the sunsets are so fit,
There must be the Infinite
In another rising elsewhere and beyond the bounds of sleep;
I may gather from a part
What the whole enjoys at heart,
With the greatness of its compass and the ocean of its sweep;

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I shall measure it at length
And be mingled with that strength,
If I wait but till the morrow and a loyal vigil keep;
For I then shall waken up
With the bird and buttercup,
When I realise myself as God within the shoreless Deep.

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June 4 GOD IN NATURE

“The work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.”— Eccles. iii. 11.

Is it nothing that the lands
Now are cradles in the Hands
Of a Being and a Majesty which thrill throughout the globe?
That the Godhead standeth near
As the earring to the ear
Of the humble myosotis, with a dewdrop on its lobe?
That the trodden stones and dirt
Are with wondrous graces girt,
For the heart which has the courage and the eye the faith to prove?
And that o'er and under each,
As the waters on the beach,
Break the lightnings and the riches of the Maker's mystic robe?

I am well content to wait
In the bitter storm or strait
For the rending of the curtain and unclosing of the bars;
While my vision is but weak,
And the purple of the Peak
Is the sight that I behold above the battle and its scars;

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For the Peak itself lies hid
And yet adverse fates forbid,
When I grope amid the shades and feel the shock that rudely jars;
But I know the coming Dawn
If beyond is not withdrawn,
And although our little day be night it is a night of stars.

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June 5 THOU ART THE MAN

“Thou art the man. ... The Lord also hath put away thy sin.”—2 Sam. xii. 7, 13.

“Thou art the man,” the sinner thou,
Whatever be the masking shape
That hides the shadow on thy brow
Or opens pathways of escape;
No refuge veils, thou art the one,
This evil thou thyself hast done.

“Thou art the man,” the sentence thine
Which sent the Saviour to the Cross,
And spurned that Human Love Divine
For which the world were paltry loss;
Ah, deem no other could be worse,
But make thine own the bitter curse.

“Thou art the man,” and upon thee
The monstrous guilt must ever lie,
Until His Blood hath washed thee free
And thou within His grave dost lie;
He felt the rending nail and thorn,
But sharper was thy cruel scorn.

“Thou art the man,” but Jesus hung
On Golgotha for such as thou,
To bid the sin-old world grow young
And bring thee precious pardon now;
For here in Mercy, lo, He stands
And holds thee with his piercèd Hands.

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June 6 CHRIST'S CHURCH

“Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; that he might sanctify ... and present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot ... but ... holy and without blemish.”—Eph. v. 25–27.

O if Christ's church one little day
Put off its earthly dower and dress,
And walked with Him throughout the way
Clothed only in His Righteousness;
If it but took His tender might,
The earth would be all glorious light.

If it just acted as He did
And simply for the briefest time,
Refusing what He would not bid
And hearkening to the Heavenly chime;
The earth would put on Angel powers,
Each road a pathway be of flowers.

If it were quite content to speak
As gently as its Lord in all,
And suffer with the poor and weak
Or languish where the weary fall;
No pain could have a moment's pang,
The earth would on its accents hang.

O if Christ's Church one little day
Remembered even the worst as kin,
Or with the outcast loved to stay
And bind the bleeding wounds of sin;
No evil more might ever grow,
The earth would be God's Heaven below.

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June 7 SUMMER'S PARABLE

“The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.”—Ps. cxlv. 9.

I see the ripple on the corn
Which runneth gaily to and fro,
And watch the rising of the morn
Or hear the noon-tide breezes blow;
The shadow rests on belfry walls,
I mark the nodding grasses raise
Their pennons when the wild wind calls,
And song-birds join the general praise.

The blossom blushes as it bows
Its head more humbly, and the dew
In pearls and diamonds decks those brows
It washes every night anew;
The keel grates on the golden beach,
The blue smoke riseth as a prayer,
And far off on the upland reach
Through red earth gleams the silver share.

I hear the pulsing of the wheels
And mighty springs that work Thy Law,
Father, and all my spirit kneels
To Thine in knowledge that is awe;
O Thou art beautiful and blest
In every flower and every tree,
For what is nature but Thy Breast
Which draws Thy children close to Thee?

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June 8 SILENCE

“There was silence in heaven.”—Rev. viii. 1.

“A time to keep silence.”—Eccles. iii. 7.

I would not fall where others fell
Who craved to cross the bounding mark,
I am assured that all is well
And God is greater than the dark.
Ah, though I be for ever blind,
Love is before me and behind.

I would not thrust aside the cloud
That shuts me with kind shadows in,
The sheltered curtain were the shroud
Of sorrow that must follow sin;
Were I not barred by mortal sight,
That blessèd cloud would be my light.

Why should I battle with the bond
Of wisdom which besets my way,
And strive to push my steps beyond
The borders of the granted day?
I would not know the hidden God,
Except in paths that He has trod.

He is the Veil, the limit lies
Within His gracious guiding hand,
And better than forbidden skies
To walk with Him in twilight land;
If He refuse a larger lore,
Let me be silent and adore.

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June 9 A HUMAN SAVIOUR

“Who can have compassion; .... for that he himself also is compassed with infirmity.”—Heb. v. 2.

Saviour, my blood was in Thy veins,
My heart beat in that human breast;
And all the beautiful, that reigns
Within me, was by Thee possest.
This weakness is to Thine most kin
Nor wast Thou from my sickness free,
And if they owned no master sin
The same wild pulses throbbed in Thee.

Saviour, my lightest loneliest fear
Still had a fellow in Thine own,
And not a mortal touch or tear
But was to Thee all truly known.
Thou lookedst once a Pilgrim out
On waves of passion dread to see,
And every human hope and doubt
Then found an earthly home in Thee.

Saviour, Thou art no different now,
For yet Thy bosom feels the same,
And painful thoughts that wring my brow
Carved upon Thine a common name.
Where hast Thou left no loving trace,
In tender joys or cares to be?
The blood of all the human race,
Ran as a homely tide in Thee.

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June 10 GOD IS LOVE

“To know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge.”— Eph. iii. 19.

It gathers still, it comes to me,
It flows about me like the sea
'Mid trouble and despite;
And all the music of the years
Is married to the joy of tears,
Eternal, infinite;
The ocean of God's boundless Love,
Beneath me, round me, and above.

I cannot see His face for Light,
Which is the secret of my sight
And kindles me to flame;
But yet the vision is the seed
And sign of every goodly deed
Betwixt my soul and shame;
And that abiding lamp shines on,
When earth's poor candle spark is gone.

It sometimes seems an awful thing,
This mighty overshadowing
Which shelters all my way;
But when my pillow is a stone,
And I at Bethel am alone,
It brightens as I pray;
And then the cloud to glory turns,
The breath of Heaven within me burns.

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June 11 THE COVENANT

“I will remember my covenant ... between me and you and every living creature.”—Gen. ix. 15.

Why should I deem myself so grand,
When the Great Power that formed this frame
Fashioned the life of every land
With wisdom and in love the same?
It was one Father's Hand, that wrought
In butterfly and bee His thought.

The same sweet beauty gave to man
And midge alike a separate part,
Each insect entered in God's Plan
And came from boundless Mercy's heart;
Angel and bird he taught to sing,
And laid His law on every wing.

The same Compassion breathed through all,
Even if by crosses went the way
To bliss and but with many a fall—
Ere ant or king found holiday.
It was a common Maker's heed,
Which met and planted either's need.

The same rich Bounty sheds on beast
And baby weakness what is fit,
At one broad table sets our feast
And scatters treasures infinite;
O how should I more blessèd be,
Had not the Saviour died for me?

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June 12 THE KNOWLEDGE THAT IS POWER

“Henceforth know we no man after the flesh.”—2 Cor. v. 16.

I know not evil now, for I am dead
To all its sin and sorrow;
The light of larger worlds shines on my head,
It asks no beams to borrow;
Henceforth I have no fetter in the flesh,
This soul has passed the grave, to rise afresh—
Mine is another morrow.

I simply know my Saviour, and the good
Whereto my hope is married;
I stand amid that blessèd Brotherhood,
For which He toiled and tarried;
How can I farther on my pilgrim road
Along His track still keep the guilty load,
Which on the Cross He carried?

I know old follies and soft vice no more,
Nor cruel mirth and madness,
My eyes behold the shining of the Shore
Beyond the surge of sadness;
For utter love I cannot feel my fears,
While at the very heart of bitterest tears
Springs up a fount of gladness.

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June 13 NATURE'S GOD

“Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: ... who walketh upon the wings of the wind.”—Ps. civ. 2, 3.

Mist of the mountain
Bird of the brake,
Laugh of the fountain,
Only partake
All of them sweetly,
All of them meetly,
Father, of Thine;
Purple and song,
Gladness belong
To Thee completely—
From Thee outshine,
In Thee Divine.

Blue of the ocean,
Broadness of space,
Heart of devotion,
Are of Thy Grace;
Earth would go groping
Blind and unhoping,
Love, without Thee;
Colour and shape
From Thee escape,
Up to Thee sloping;
In Thee, I see
Past and to be.

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June 14 THE JOY OF SORROW

“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”—Ps. cxxvi. 5.

Tell me no more that sorrow rules the earth,
And life is all affliction
Bound fast by prison chains of doom and dearth,
Past reach of benediction;
I see below the surface brighter shoots,
And better joy with everlasting roots.

I know that man is born to burdens dark
That fall in sad surprises,
While sufferings on his soul do leave their mark
And slowly rest arises;
But through the longest desert lies a clue,
And hidden skies have roses ever blue.

There has not been one cruel pang that had
No balm or promise vernal,
And when the horizons looked most sere and sad
Shone out some truth eternal;
There is sweet meaning in the murkiest cloud,
And to climb higher are we humbly bow'd.

The loneliest track the Master's Love has trod,
His Hand in pain is pressing;
The surf of sadness beating at the Foot of God
Comes back in larger blessing.
And He, who formed the world so wondrous fair,
Hears every sparrow's note and counts each hair.

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June 15 WORK

“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.”—St. John v. 17.

Is God too busy now to smile
On me, and hath He other toil
Elsewhere for just a little while,
Perhaps, and tasks I must not spoil;
And so a shadow lingers now,
A moment on the Father's brow?

Nay, I must busy be, and then
I shall not see the tiny cloud,
Which seems betwixt His Love and men
But may be in a spirit proud;
I am too fond of foolish play,
And loiter often on the way.

The earth is busy, and the sky
Hath many blessèd things to do,
And if I really work or try
I shall find more of sunshine too;
The ants and bees, that never rest,
Are cradled on one Father's Breast.

All, all are busy, some so much
They gather honey in the night,
God works His sweetest way in such
And in their souls is secret light;
No wonder Heaven looks sadly down
On idle hearts, and seems to frown.

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June 16 THE HEART OF JOY

“With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells or salvation.”—Isa. xii. 3.

O it were sin and utter sin
Here at the seat we summer in,
Where roses laugh so redly;
To let the life unheeded spin,
And only mark the deadly.
Why should we make the meaner choice,
And not like winds and waves rejoice?

For at the heart of Nature dwells
Gladness, with all those spirit spells
Which heal the sores of sorrow;
And in the woods and bubbling wells,
Grief only comes to-morrow.
Why do our lips not echo mirth,
Which clasps the ages in its girth?

O it is wrong and bitter wrong
When pleasure bids the weak be strong,
To fashion pain as fetter;
And not to hear the secret song,
Beneath the iron letter.
Why do we put on garments grey,
When every world is so at play?

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June 17 THE BOOK BEAUTIFUL

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set eternity in their heart.”—Eccles. iii. 11.

I love it all, the varied sky,
The scarlet clouds that voyage by,
In common things the mystery
Where life sits hushed or hidden;
The winds that travel none know whence,
That awe which is the soul's defence,
And the Divine sweet effluence
Wherefrom I draw unchidden;
I love it all, and ever shall
Observe the secret festival.

I love it all, the bramble set
Betwixt the blooms an hourly fret,
Nor would I leave one prickle yet
Out of the toils and trials;
Dear to me is the honied cup
When I with unknown angels sup,
And untold bliss that bubbles up,
But dearer sorrow's vials;
For, all around me, laps and lies
The breath of Love's eternities.

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June 18 SENSE OF SIN

“I have sinned.”—St. Luke xv. 21.

“Here am I; send me.”—Isa. vi. 8.

I am the sinner—yes, and I
Do bow most humbly to my God;
O pass me not like Ephraim by,
When Mercy holds the judgment rod.
Better a thousand times the blame,
Than ever to deny my shame.

I am Thy servant—bid me go
And bind the yoke upon my back,
Earth will be Heaven itself below
Since Thou hast trodden first the track.
Ah, do not make the burden less,
But give me more Thy Righteousness.

I am the sufferer—let me take
The anguish which a brother hath,
That he may rest while I awake
And walk with Thee the Calvary path;
Though every sorrow fall on me,
Thy Presence sets the children free.

I am the one—to work or wait,
To bear the sentence brought by ill
And struggle through the portal strait,
To carry others or be still;
But if Thy blessing o'er me shine,
The pain or service—be it mine.

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June 19 SIN AND ITS SENTENCE

“The soul that sinneth, it shall die.”—Ezek. xviii. 4.

We need not wait for wanton errors
The sorrow that must come,
For close at hand are penal terrors
And in the bosom home;
We hear it now, the judgment knell
For each lewd revel,
And carry with us Heaven or Hell—
Our God or Devil.

We know the Word, the soul that sinneth
Shall suffer sore and die;
And now, at once, the ban beginneth—
Our graves around us lie:
For every vice there is a death,
The scorn has scourging,
And for the false or poisoned breath
Comes bitter purging.

God's Justice is not far or fable,
That folly may deride;
The outward doom, that fell on Babel,
Is now a doom inside.
There is the scathing, there the scar—
The dread impugnal;
There stands the felon at the bar,
His heart's tribunal.

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June 20 SIN AND ITS REMEDY

“All we like sheep have gone astray; ... and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.”—Isa. liii. 6.

I do repent of my repentance, Lord;
It stabs me like some unavailing sword
Daily as at Thy Blessèd Feet I lie,
And strive to kill the stains that cannot die;
Ah, it increases all the load of guilt
Which I these dim and dreadful years have built
Betwixt me and Thy dear unspotted dress,
The splendour of that awful Righteousness.

My sorrow is but sin, and hourly more,
Which yet Thy Passion in its fulness bore
For me in mercy that I scarce can claim,
While earthly still in every act and aim;
I fain would weep for tears that only blot
This bitter record worse and cleanse me not,
My praises seem to multiply the debt
And the remorse breeds but a vain regret.

In me is nothing good, my faith mere doubt
That dares no deeps, and never launches out;
My very love is cold as winter ice,
And all my offerings were no sacrifice.
Therefore I flee, despite the waves that toss
And adverse winds that blow me, to Thy Cross—
As to its nest at last the homing dove—
The measure of my guilt and of Thy love.

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June 21 ALMSGIVING

“All things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee.” —1 Chron. xxix. 14.

What present shall I make Thee, Lord,
That was not Thine before it came?
The bounty Heaven and Earth afford
Is but a bounty in Thy Name;
And blessings that I seem to win,
In Thee and in Thy Love begin.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
And thine the baubles that I have,
The wealth that is not really mine
And wears the shadow of the grave;
I cannot call one moment free,
Or say that ought belongs to me.

I offer Thee, dear Master, first
The honour that was ever due;
And Thou didst upon Calvary thirst
For loyal hearts and homage true.
I bring to Thee my very best,
That thus it may be repossest.

What may I now except or hoard
Of every comfort by me known,
When Thou hast given me bed and board
And each delight is still Thine own?
For in the shelter of the Ark,
These mortal treasures bear Thy mark.

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I only render offerings vain,
Not mine nor ever to be more;
Thine is the whole, without the stain,
And I am stablished from Thy store;
Thine from the birth unto the pall—
Then take me, Lord, myself and all.

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June 22 TRUE SERVICE

“I will shew thee my faith by my works.”—St. Jas. ii. 18.

Pray not, unless thy shoulder bears
The burden of a brother;
Nor pity souls, unless thine wears
His sorrow for another—
And thine the bitter truth, that tears
A wound no smile can smother.
For prayer were mockery and sin,
Which doth not at the Cross begin.

Praise not, unless thy tongue be dipt
In fire from God's own altar;
Yet judge not, though a sister slipt
While thy foot did not falter;
But when thou art by sorrow gript,
Let suffering be thy psalter.
For praises are yet worse than blame,
Till they be purgèd in the flame.

O first look in the Blessèd Face
Which on all sinners lightens,
And measure them by boundless Grace
Which broadens hearts and brightens;
For Love makes these its dwelling-place,
Its heaven, and with it heightens.
We let no sob go heedless by,
When we have come from Calvary.

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June 23 CUTTING THE ROOTS

“Every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.”—St. John xv. 2.

In the hand of the Lord is a pruning knife
Which though sharpened by love is keen,
For it severs the man from his wedded wife
And the dearest it falls between.
The great Gardener waits for the vintage yield
From the branches and budding shoots,
He has watered and drest the barren field—
And then deeper He cuts the roots.

He has tilled and broken the barren ground
And He grudged not a moment's care,
That the fairest of fruitage might thence be found
And the crops which we never bare.
Lo He comes in His Mercy and while we sleep
In a watchful and patient Might,
And His pruning knife it cuts hard and deep
That the roots may yet yield aright.

But He sendeth the light and the gracious dew
And the warmth of the ripening sun,
That the plant He hath smitten He may renew
Where the fountains of quickening run.
But the promise would fade and the harvest fail
And the vineyard be void of shoots,
If the Gardener's knife did not thus prevail
With the cutting that cleft the roots.

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June 24 AT THE END

“I have seen an end of all perfection, but thy commandment is exceeding broad.”—Ps. cxix. 96.

I was at the unfinished end of all
The sweet and solemn things,
As if the frown of some forbidden wall
Froze up my ardent wings;
And the great secret springs,
Before full beauty, seemed to fail and fall.
And I too was the incompletest part,
God had not broken yet in Love my heart.

With pain I drew the passion of my breath
Trembling by its frail tie,
Each labouring pace I passed from death to death
And yet could never die;
Heedless, I yet did lie
Within the Hands which held the world beneath.
I was a pilgrim soul that could not stray,
Because where'er I went Christ was the Way.

Then great Love smote me with His chastening rod,
And laid me very low;
I seemed to touch and taste the graveyard clod,
And hear the grasses grow
Above me, at His blow—
Though gathered to the Mercies of my God;
And from the shaping of His Altar knife,
I rose when broken to the better life.

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June 25 ALL IN EACH

“That they may be one, even as we are one: I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one.”—St. John xvii. 22, 23.

Can I, a single soldier, face
The awful armies of the night
And do the thing that is delight;
Or flood with joy one famished place,
By leading a lost soul aright?
My strength is weakness, and my love
Though kindled at the founts above.

But O I am a living link
Within the Church of Christ, and stand
Not by my own unaided hand;
For with the thoughts of Heaven I think,
And gather might from God's command.
Not lonely through the dark I reach,
With brothers, in the power of each.

The blessèd Grace which binds in one
All members of our Holy Guild,
Whereby we sow and plant and build,
Flows like a sea through every son—
He with the total force is filled.
And I, though nought, in that defence
Am clothèd with Omnipotence.

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June 26 PRAYER

“But we will give ourselves continually to prayer.”— Acts vi. 4.

Father, I cannot choose but pray
Because I do belong to Thee,
Thy child, though often far astray
In sunshine which I will not see;
And so my spirit rushes out
In words or with a simple cry,
Which feels 'mid all its darkest doubt
The presence of Eternity.

Father, I cannot choose but pray,
There is no other plea or plan
To guide me on the narrow way
And build me to the better man;
I must give forth in hopeful fear
Or silence which is more than speech,
Petitions none but Thou canst hear—
To prove the mercy I beseech.

Father, I cannot choose but pray,
It is the only language meant
For souls that nothing else can say,
And whereon all the world has leant;
Yea, and Thy Spirit will make up
My many blanks or even the blot,
And offer Thee the brimming cup
While cleansing every evil spot.

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June 27 NOT WORTHY

“I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof.”— St. Matt. viii. 8.

I am not worthy Thou should'st make
My little heart Thy mighty Home;
But yet in Love, for Jesu's sake,
Come to me, Holy Spirit, come;
O purge me through with heavenly fire,
And cleanse each impulse and desire.

I am not worthy to look up
A moment in Thy Blessèd Face,
But yet Thou biddest me to sup
With Thee, a guest of wondrous Grace;
For I may at Thy Table sit,
And prove the mercy infinite.

I am not worthy, Lord, to bear
My humble cross of woe for Thee,
But yet I may in service wear
The yoke that maketh man so free;
Nor is there glory like Thy dress,
Of pure and perfect Righteousness.

I am not worthy even to die,
For Thee, who givest me Thine all,
But yet within Thine arms I lie
Whenever I would faint or fall;
And in the very hour of death,
Thy kiss receives my latest breath.

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June 28 CREDO QUIA NECESSITAS

“We cannot but speak the things which we have seen and heard.”—Acts iv. 20.

Eternal Father, Lord of Light,
How can I onward mount to Thee,
Unless I have that secret sight
Which makes the humble spirit free?
Ah, Thou wilt kindle in me yet
The rays that rise and never set.

I do look upward, though I still
Behold not the Eternal Day,
But I am weeded to Thy Will
And seek to walk Thy perfect Way;
For if Thou holdest tight my hand,
I shall be truly strong to stand.

I do believe Thee, and have found
The faithful fetter of Thy Love,
And with Thee even this earthly ground
Seems as the holy heaven above;
And if I else were sometimes faint,
I may not in Thy sweet constraint.

Necessity is on me laid
And I a willing servant am,
I cannot live without that aid
Which shepherds home each wandering lamb;
And in the greatness of my trust,
I cling to Thee because I must.

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June 29 REVELATION OF THE VEIL

“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast, and which entereth into that within the veil.” —Heb. vi. 19.

I thank Thee, Father, for the veil
Between me and the coming time,
That thus my faith may never fail
And love still keep its wedding chime;
I thank Thee for the blessèd bar
Which shutteth in my foolish pride,
That I need not go gazing far
Or wander from the Saviour's side.

I thank Thee for the one to-day
Which Thou hast granted to me now,
In Mercy which doth put away
The future thorns to press my brow;
I thank Thee that I cannot see
Beyond the vision that is best,
Each tiny step I take with Thee
Who art my Refuge and my Rest.

I thank Thee for the precious bound
Through which I venture not at will,
And for the lowly spot of ground
Which Thou hast suffered me to till;
I thank Thee I am often blind
To distant cares, and do not hear
Aught but Thy Voice, before, behind—
It is enough to know Thee near.

217

June 30 BEFORE GOD

“I am the Almighty God; walk before me, and be thou perfect.” —Gen. xvii. 1.

I stand before my God for ever,
I only see His awful Face,
And not a cloud can dim or sever
My spirit from His dwelling-place;
I live with Him in noontide night,
The perfect flower of lovely light.

The World's fair gifts that pass and perish
Or tempting gates of carven gold,
Let others choose to seek and cherish—
They are not charms which I behold.
For me there is no vision, but
The door which never shall be shut.

Around me laps the mighty ocean
Of everlasting Light and Love,
It moves in me and this devotion,
And under me and all above;
I bathe me in its boundless Grace,
And feel no more the earth's embrace.

Sweet views may come and go and vanish,
And still fresh fountains rise and run;
But from my soul no sight may banish
The glory of the Central Sun;
Thy Face in everything I see
And everything, O God, in Thee.