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

The earth hath many and many a voice,
And some are sad and some rejoice—
What are our wild winds saying?
The waters sob and surge on high,
And grasses in the graveyard sigh—
But everything is praying.

The little leaves are hung with tears
And mildew rests on unripe ears—
What is not sometime weeping?
Yet, life that's but a lonely cry
Fits into God's Eternity,
And watch with Him is keeping.

There's shadow in the morning's heart,
And death lies at the rose's heart—
What is not somewhere bleeding?
O famine sits on bud and breast,
But everything at last in rest
Comes to its God for feeding.

Is dust the end of mortal things,
That dims so soon the angel wings
White loves are somehow raising?
Nay, under even the dearth and dark
Each creature has a conquering spark,
And each its God is praising.

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There's sweetness in the bitterest cup,
And Jesus asks with us to sup—
The Light of all our living;
God grants His blessèd face to shine
On us, and offers food Divine—
What are His children giving?

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July 2 NATURE'S CHOIR

“The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord.”—Ps. xxxiii. 5.

Ere even the dying of the dark
God's bells are ringing,
God's birds are singing—
The early throstle and the lark—
Their Matins long, their Matins loud;
As if their breasts would burst with glory
From telling Love's new ancient story,
Beneath their temple-roof of cloud.
Then, with a music loud and long,
Each dear voice raises
A hymn of praises,
And calls the world to Evensong.

The earth is but a blessèd shrine,
Where choirs keep chanting
What God is wanting,
To make us feel we are Divine;
It's ever Sunday here and rest,
For those that find on mount and meadow
A heavenly light, a heavenly shadow
Which draw us to the Father's Breast;
And every little bird that says
Matins or Vespers
Though just by whispers,
In service joins and pipes and prays.

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July 3 EARTH'S OFFERING

“Let the whole earth be filled with his glory.”—Ps. lxxii. 19.

Earth everywhere hath worship sweet,
Some holy leaven,
Some little heaven
That lies about the Father's Feet;
At noon goes up the incense bright,
Through night, and from the whole Creation—
God never needs a congregation,
And does not miss an altar light.
When beasts and wingèd words are mute,
Lo, from a thousand woods and rivers
Rings out the tale how Love delivers—
No leaf but is a tinkling lute.

O let us not disdain to do
Our best by living
Each day thanksgiving,
And chant with birds and breezes too;
That we may find in grateful parts
A balm for all our work and weeping,
While of His Goodness God is keeping
Perpetual summer in our hearts.
And we shall hear above our pain
In every bosom,
With hopes that blossom,
God's Sunday bells' eternal strain.

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July 4 GOD OUR REFUGE

“The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the ever-lasting arms.”—Deut. xxxiii. 27.

O God, our Refuge and our Strength,
A Fortress in the hour of need,
Though tardily we come, at length—
Be Thou a Hiding-place indeed;
The battle and the sword are Thine,
And Thou alone a shield Divine.

Tread on the wine-press of Thy wrath,
Should sin be only purgèd thus,
For kind and blessèd is Thy path—
If through our blood and over us;
Reap on the awful harvest red,
Till every root of sin is dead.

We do not ask to suffer more,
But would not have the burden less,
If broken on the saving shore
Of Thy great Love and Righteousness;
Each wound is just Thy solemn seal,
Which falls in mercy and to heal.

Dear Father, there is none but Thou
To whom we may in sorrow fly,
And here before Thy Feet we bow
In this our sore extremity;
O hear us when we humbly call,
And glorify Thyself in all.

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July 5 MISGIVINGS

“If ye have faith, and doubt not, ... it shall be done.”— St. Matt. xxi. 21.

I darkly seek and dimly find
The God whose foot is rushing wind,
Whose voice is rolling sea;
His Mercy follows me behind,
He hears my unsaid plea;
And when I gain the sheltered shore,
It is His Love which I adore.

But for this trembling faith too dull
To see the flowers which others cull,
The light were leaping out;
All heaven would be in yon dead skull,
And scorn its empty doubt;
Till on His awful Grace I stand,
As on the sure and solid land.

But, ah, my venture is so weak
It will not bid the spirit speak,
As else it surely must;
I dare not climb the purple peak,
And falter down in dust;
Yet I do know, His Presence gives
My soul the sun whereby it lives.

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July 6 LOVE AND DOUBT

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.”— 1 St. John iv. 18.

O come, dear Saviour, closer still
And fold me in that perfect Will
Which sees the future now;
For all, alike the good and ill,
To one great issue bow;
And my misgivings then shall pave
Only a path, across the grave.

Whene'er I feel Thy faintest touch
And prove that Sovereign Love is such,
I shall not doubt again;
Nor would I be wise overmuch,
But choose what times ordain;
It is enough to learn my lore,
In what Thy Sufferings learnt before.

I humbly think these clouds, that rise
Betwixt my grave and Paradise,
Were only meant to teach;
Lest the full glory of surprise,
Should blast my petty reach;
And when the tardy wings can fly,
Their home will be Eternity.

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July 7 REAL RICHES

The unsearchable riches of Christ.”—Eph. iii. 8.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis well;
But Thou art still the richest Mine,
Wherein all treasures dwell.
I do not ask for earthly wealth,
But only to be free—
To find my lasting hope and health,
In serving none but Thee.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis best;
They have no worth till made Divine,
And of Thy bounty blest.
I do not ask for precious ore,
Or pearls of goodly price;
But simply power to love Thee more,
A living sacrifice.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis fit;
But Thou canst this poor heart refine,
And form it infinite.
So I may hear Thy faintest call
And yield Thee every breath,
Content and proud to offer all,
Though it be unto Death.

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July 8 WEIGHTS AND WINGS

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

I asked for wings from Perfect Love,
That I might flee the world, above
Its many wants and woes;
I thought it hard to battle long
With carnal ease and royal wrong,
And dark and dreadful foes.
But, ah, God gave me earthly freights,
And only added to their weights.

Yet as I bore my burden up
And drank of passion's bitter cup,
The morning gleamed at length;
A softer light of sweeter day
Upon my mounting spirit lay,
And grew a hidden strength.
Lo, every cross and heavy load
Became a signpost on the road.

Till when I far had journeyed on,
I woke to see the trial gone
And trouble not a bar;
For faith had lifted me so high,
That Heaven and earth were now as nigh
As lustre to the star.
My cruel thorns seemed crowns for kings,
And hampering weights were only wings.

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July 9 GOD THE FRIEND

“Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.”— St. John xv. 14.

I have no friend but God,
Nor need I more
To walk the desert which the fathers trod
Who fought their fight, and went that way before;
I ask no seat, because I have His throne
And hourly bear the burden and the heat,
Which He has borne who won, but not alone.
I crave no earthly gleam of light
Or love,
Beyond the blessing of the secret sight
Which lifts me as I look to peace above.

I have no friend but God,
Who guideth still
These erring footsteps with His patient rod,
Which is my staff of strength in every ill.
I am content
To suffer as my Lord
And know with Him the shadow of descent,
Although my passage be the bitter sword;
It is enough to feel that He
Is near,
Within the darkness (if I cannot see)
And under all the trouble and each tear.

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July 10 THE DIVINE LEPER

“Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us.”—Gal. iii. 13.

“He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin.”— 2 Cor. v. 21.

Once I lived only just to please
Myself and seized the moment flying,
The flower, though cankered with disease—
While all the joy when caught seemed dying;
The dew, the bloom, that sweetly shone,
Even as I tasted them were gone;
It came with laughter, went with crying—
And yet in pleasure I lived on.

At last unto the Cross I drew,
To find that I at heart did sicken
With leprosy that grimly grew,
The life that only death could quicken;
My soul, my will, my conscience felt
The poison that within me dwelt,
Wherewith I was so sorely stricken—
Until on Calvary I knelt.

But then I lifted up my eyes
And saw the Leper, who was married
Unto my doom, in darker skies,
Beneath the curse I should have carried;
And there before that Love made Sin
For me and in all points akin,
My sickness which so long had tarried
Fell off, and now new worlds begin.

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July 11 NOT WITH WORDS

“Be silent, O all flesh, before the Lord: for he is raised up out of his holy habitation.”—Zech. ii. 13.

There is a time for Silence, when is won
The glory and the vision,
And face to face the Father meets the son
In faith's full clear decision;
Speech were profane at such an hour, when earth
Seems like a leaf to flutter,
And love has cast round it and Heaven a girth
Of joy it cannot utter.

There is a time for Silence, as we first
Stand in the Presence Holy,
While God reveals the truth for which we thirst
And wheels of life go slowly;
When we who gather at the solemn Feast
See that dear Body broken,
The Precious Blood's outpouring for the least—
O what could then be spoken?

There is a time for Silence, and to keep
Watch just at prayer's white portal,
Betwixt the rose of sunrise and the deep
Full light of the immortal;
Then humblest words were vain and all unfit
The breath of one petition,
When on the border of the Infinite
We wait the last transition.

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July 12 THE MEASURE OF THE SOUL

“Not redeemed with ... silver and gold, ... but with the precious blood of Christ.”—1 St. Pet. i. 18, 19.

What am I worth? Not any gold
Or precious gems can weigh the price,
If ever man were bought and sold—
No mortal treasure could suffice;
Ah, count the cost of goodly things
And multiply it by the store
Of all the riches of all kings,
And yet a beggar is worth more.

What am I worth? Keep adding yet
Whate'er ye will, whate'er ye can,
Still worlds would never pay the debt
Of one poor Christ-redeemèd man;
Ransack the ocean's azure hall
And add the markets of the earth,
Throw in the universe and all—
That is no value of his worth.

What am I worth? Immortal souls
Cannot be judged or meted thus,
For we move on to God-like goals,
Eternity is housed in us;
My worth exceedeth every price,
Although that be God's very throne,
Because Christ was its sacrifice—
The Cross my measure is alone.

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July 13 CONSTRAINING LOVE

“The love of Christ constraineth us; ... that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him.” —2 Cor. v. 14, 15.

Sometimes the burden presseth sore,
I almost think to lay it down,
But when I pray the Master more
He whispers that this is my crown;
He tells me I am carrying Him
If mine be but a bondage free,
And though the days are often dim
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

It may have been a little child
I had to bear along the way,
But when He closer drew and smiled
The Holy Child upon me lay;
It may have been a wingèd love,
Some wounded bird that scarce could flee,
But soon it seemed the Holy Dove—
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

So now when any load is mine,
And brothers' are to me the most,
I know they really are Divine—
A Calvary or a Pentecost;
And when I lift them bravely up
No more a burden can they be,
Or blessèd cross or bitter cup—
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

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July 14 GOD'S CANDLE

“Thou wilt light my candle.”—Ps. xviii. 28.

I built a pretty house of praise,
It hath a door and handle
Which only Jesus knows to raise,
Who lights my little candle;
And late and early here He comes,
Though His are many hearts and homes.

And often in the lonely night
When watch I should be keeping,
He draweth near, who is my Light,
And sadly finds me sleeping;
But when my earthly dreams have fled,
I find Him sitting by my bed.

I do not alway sweep the room
Where He has time to tarry,
His piercèd Hands then take the broom
For cleansing I should carry;
The soil of days or sinful years
He washeth off with Holy Tears.

Sometimes He sees the candle out
Which He had sweetly lighted,
And everywhere the dust of doubt
Though faith I fondly plighted;
And then, to purge the evil stain,
He hangs upon my Cross again.

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July 15 OBEDIENT TO DEATH

“Obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.”—Phil. ii. 8.

I do not ask a hero's powers,
Or human pride of place it scorns;
Give others, Lord, the fruits and flowers,
And let my jewels be the thorns.
There are so many who would reign
Or play the prophet in their turn,
And yet leave worse Life's tangled skein—
I am content to stoop and learn.

I do not ask an easier bond
Of service that is falsely free,
Nor would I care to look beyond
Each little step I take with Thee;
There are so many who aspire
And dig for others ready graves,
But have not passed themselves the fire
Nor swum in Jordan's swelling waves.

I do not ask one sorrow less
Nor would I beg one blessing more,
I take what comes nor idly press
The treasures that Thou hast in store;
There are so many who would lead
And force that gentle Hand of Thine,
Who never pause to pray or read
Their own poor human hearts Divine.

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July 16 GOD OR THE WORLD

“Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?”—Acts ix. 6.

We dread not for ourselves the dangers
When we go on our wilful way,
But scorn of friends or frown of strangers,
The murmur for a week or day;
A little look, a quiet gesture
That marks the cavil though not heard,
The hand that closer draws its vesture,
Condemns—but not God's Word.

Why should we fear a passing sentence
Or flee the babbling tongue so much,
When He who loves us asks repentance
And pardons ere we yield Him such?
The world may blame us or acquitting
Receive us to its arms again,
But only Christ can give remitting
Of evil and the stain.

For us, who are redeemèd Brothers,
No flying Fashion's word or deed—
The judgment or the praise of others
As sinful—this we must not heed;
If every hour were all denial
And life one long and cruel way,
Yet what would Jesus do in trial
And what would Jesus say?

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July 17 NARROW PLACES

“A narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right hand or to the left.”—Num. xxii. 26.

Times are there when we cannot choose
This way or that or any load,
But must go forward if we lose
All but the terrors of the road;
These are the narrow places
Of pleading pallid faces,
These are the stormy narrow seas
Where life hath little rest or ease.

Conviction comes with awful stride
And stands across the straitened path,
The world which seemed so wondrous wide
Now shrivels to one cloud of wrath;
These are the narrow ledges,
Grim gulfs and fiery edges
Which we must boldly face or fall—
But Christ Himself hath crost them all.

Temptations, trials, start around
At every step and close us in,
They shut us from the Shining Ground
'Mid ghosts of old unburied sin.
These are the narrow quarters
Of perilous lone waters,
Through which we voyage in the dark—
Safe only in the Church's Ark.

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And then the deep and dreadful gloom,
From which not even God can save
The souls that travel to their doom—
Now but the shadow of a grave.
These are the narrow places
With nought but tombs' embraces,
Which man must tread, and yet not dim
If Christ the Risen doth walk with him.

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July 18 NOT WITH SWORD

“He took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men.”—Phil. ii. 7.

Christ did not come with girded sword
And terrible in mien and might,
He was our Brother though our Lord,
His weapons were but Love and Light;
He put no dreadful harness on,
But moved 'mid homely thoughts and things,
Men hardly knew till He had gone
He was the very King of Kings.

But after He had passed and done
The deed no other might, or told
That word which wisest was—the one,
The dross itself seemed turned to gold;
No dazzling Glory on Him lay—
If it did ever from Him shine
It was but through some shadowed way,
In great Humility Divine.

His was no Stoic calm, the strength
Of unimpassioned iron frost,
He lived in weakness and at length
Died with all but Salvation lost.
He builded not His rule by force,
But on foundations none could move,
And led all sinners to the Source
(Wherefrom He drank) of boundless Love

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July 19 THE INCARNATION

“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”— St. John i. 14.

Yea, God Himself hath Eyes and Ears
And human Hands and Feet like ours,
He hearkens to unuttered fears
And sees from far our failing powers;
He runs to each repentant son
Whose contrite breast with sorrow burns,
He marks the deed though yet undone
And meets him even before he turns.

Yea, God Himself is truly Man,
Bone of our Bone and very Flesh,
He hath the same sweet human plan
And daily dies and lives afresh;
His back is bowed with constant toil,
He hath each human pulse and part,
But all without the sin and soil—
Though our blood beats within His Heart.

Yea, God Himself is formed like us
To feel, to suffer, and to love;
For only thence and only thus
Could we be blest with Him above.
He weeps when sinners start aside
Like broken bows for some poor toy,
But if for Truth we do decide
He shares in Heaven a common joy.

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July 20 FOR ME

“The Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.”— Gal. ii. 20.

The Saviour truly lived and gave
His best, His all for every man,
Nor did He finish at the Grave
The glorious work which Love began;
O that such long and bitter pains
And watchful weary nights should be,
Before the breaking of the chains,
For me.

The Master truly lived and served
His thankless creatures to the end,
And not from one great trial swerved,
Nor did he for one moment bend.
Alas! that boundless Love and loss
Without a pause but prayer should be,
With each dark milestone but a Cross,
For me!.

Our Brother truly lived and died
(Though oft before) on Calvary,
And that dear Heart was crucified
To open us Eternity;
O shame and sorrow, yet O bliss,
That all such Agony should be
Beyond the farthest thought, and this
For me.

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July 21 THE BURDEN-BEARER

“Every man shall bear his own burden.”—Gal. vi. 5.

“Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”—Gal. vi. 2.

Cast thy burden on the Lord
Though the trouble be a sword,
Give whate'er He ask;
Cast to-day, its sin and sorrow,
On His Love and leave to-morrow
For to-morrow's task.
Cast from thee the clinging stain,
Christ is stronger than thy chain.

Cast thy burden, loss or lack,
Upon Him and take not back
What thou yieldest up;
Jesus felt Himself thy trial,
And in sweetness of denial
Drank its bitter cup.
Cast each tiniest fret or whim
Only, ever, all on Him.

Cast thy burden, if it be
Big in blackness as the sea,
Wholly on the Lord;
Cast each sadness and thy brother's
Which is thine and not another's,
Till in joy restor'd.
Ah, and knowing what Christ bare,
Cast thyself with every care.

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July 22 ANGEL WORK

“Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?”—Heb. i. 14.

I may not be an Angel quite,
But I may walk with Thee in white
And live like Thee the infinite,
Sweet blessèd life of Love;
With Angel ways and Angel wings
And Angel thoughts and Angel things,
All that thou keepest for Thy kings
To reign with Thee above.

An Angel quite I may not be,
But I may minister like Thee,
Dear Lord, and though in twilight see
Yet something of Thy Face;
With Angel words and Angel deeds
And Angel joys and Angel creeds,
That sow the world with saving seeds
For golden times of Grace.

I may not be an Angel quite,
But I may speak in sin's despite,
And spare no evil appetite
That frets against Thy sway;
With Angel toils and Angel tears
And Angel hopes and Angel fears,
That lead the tired and yearning years
Unto the perfect day.

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July 23 ALL FOR CHRIST

“They forsook all, and followed him.”—St. Luke v. 11.

Lo, I have followed Thee through night,
Dear Lord, and striven in awful stress
With powers of darkness and the might
Of the great hungry wilderness;
My tears have often washed Thy Feet,
While Thou didst let them freely flow
As if those bitter drops were sweet—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

And weary vigils have I held
With blessèd fasts, that are a feast
To famished souls, though I rebelled
Before and grudged Thy Love the least;
But, ah, Thy Patience was so good
And waited for my service slow,
It was the Rock whereon I stood—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

O I have passed through Jordan's waves
In swellings where I scarce could swim,
Though these were likewise passions' graves,
And fought with lusts like Anakim;
No precious idol have I spared,
Even if it cost the fiercest blow,
While Thou with me Thy Heaven hast shared—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

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July 24 CREDO QUIA IMPOSSIBILE

“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul.”—Heb. vi. 19.

Faith is the anchor of my life
Which moors me to the Eternal Shore,
Though many a day is dark and rife
With pain and care that gathers more.
Were I condemned past all reprieve,
No peace below, no Light above;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

Though death for ever dogged my path
And threw its shadow on each side,
Hope's rainbow through the clouds of wrath
Would burst in beauty and in pride.
If friends did nothing but deceive,
And not one blessing could I prove;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

If the great sun were blotted out
And left a mute and mourning sky,
I could not for a moment doubt—
Though heaven and earth shrank shrivelled by.
Should never aid or rest relieve
The sorrows, that I might not move;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

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July 25 VISION OF THE NIGHT

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.”—Isa. xlv. 7.

Thy vision of the day is much,
Thy vision of the night is more,
My Saviour, and I feel Thy touch
Dearer in darkness and its lore;
I had not learnt Thy Love, before
Finding the sweetest Cross was such.
I know the shadow, where I rest,
Is but the shadow of Thy Breast.

The revelation of the gleam,
Which ever guides my footsteps right,
Is not the dream within the dream
When the last star hath taken flight;
I have a leading more than light,
Which never shone on land or stream.
The revelation of the gloom,
Gives me Creation's inmost bloom.

There were no brightness in the morn,
Nor Mercy at the heart of things,
Were not Thy burden hourly borne
And joys won out of jangled strings;
We only prove that we are kings,
When leaning on some Cross's thorn.
Thy Love lies broadcast, but I mark
The shining fairest in the dark.

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July 26 GOD'S BEAST

“So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee.”—Ps. lxxiii. 22.

The Psalmist sang, and it is true,
That man the highest or the least
Can only claim a humble due,
And is no better than the beast.
Ah, well I know and must confess
The frequent fall and sordid lust,
That every hour I do transgress
And wallow in my native dust.

I am a very beast, O Lord,
In Thy pure Presence, and I feel
The judgment of Thy Cross and Word,
When I in guilt and sorrow kneel.
My heart is harder than the stones
Despite the blessings Thou dost give,
Who in the valley of dry bones
Breathest in might until they live.

If I a beast am, Father, use
My lowly service for good deeds;
No burden will I now refuse,
And Christ Himself had sometimes needs.
Then lay on me the heaviest yoke,
If Thine, and though the very least
Of all Thy thralls that ever broke
Thy halter, let me be Thy beast.

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July 27 OUR HIDING-PLACE

“Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.”—St. John xx. 27.

I see at last my grievous sin,
And, O dear Saviour, let me hide
Away from all its woe within
Thy blessed Wounds and riven Side;
Thou art the Living Rock, and Thou
Wast broken that I should not break,
But might find ever there and now
Mercy for Love's most precious sake.

I would not hide as Adam hid
Afar from God, because he chose
The selfish path of pride, and did
The deed that had no earthly close.
As Thou didst cover Moses, stand
About me in Thine awful Grace,
And hide me in Thy sheltering Hand—
I dare not look upon Thy Face.

Nor would I as the Prophet hide
From duty in the desert shade,
Though he had drunk of Cherith's tide
And sat at feasts Thy Bounty made.
But like Nathanael would I rest
Beneath the fig-tree as he knelt,
Or lie like John upon Thy Breast
And live in shadow where he dwelt.

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July 28 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY

“For now we see through a glass, darkly.”—1 Cor. xiii. 12.

Now through a glass I see but darkly,
And shadows which are all my shine
Fall on the pathway they entwine,
And stretches round a dead world starkly;
Earth, like a riddle, opens out
Pages of mingled fear and doubt.

Above me is no open vision,
But glimmering blue and clouded sky,
And rays that lighten in derision
A muffled world of mystery;
The oracles of man are vain,
Increase the gloom, and add more pain.

Ah, who shall read the riddle clearly
And bid the mists about me fade,
But Love that loveth all so dearly
That He our Sacrifice was made?
He gave His Blood and dying Breath,
To read the riddle which was death.

And thus the shades for ever fleeting,
That round me gather gray and dim,
When at His Cross Christ gives me greeting
Grow blest and glorified in Him;
My troubles, as I gaze, have fled—
In His sweet Grave interpreted.

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July 29 GOD'S FOOLISHNESS

“The foolishness of God is wiser than men.”—1 Cor. i. 25.

Dear Father, all the wisdoms vain
Of all the ages are but dross,
And idle work and weary pain,
Before the Wisdom of the Cross;
For now even death is made Divine,
And wonderful it is to see—
That this sweet Foolishness of Thine
Doth win so many hearts to Thee.

We build great arguments on high,
Babels of thought like lofty towers,
To bring Eternity more nigh
And mimic thus Thy God-like Powers:
But as in empty pride they stand,
They pass like breath upon the breeze
And perish—for, O Lord, Thy grand
Simplicity is more than these.

Ah, teach me then the better lore
And let me thus unlearn the old,
Till with the instructions in Thy store
I shall be very wise and bold;
And may the Knowledge that is Life
Show me the Cross alone can bless,
And he who loses in the strife
Is conqueror in Thy Foolishness.

249

July 30 PATHOS MATHOS

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings.’—Phil. iii. 10.

The thorn must grow before the flower
And knowledge kill ere it is power,
Whilst we must fight the stone and thistle;
Yea, sorrow is the way to learn,
And darkness points to faith the turn
To light through rocks that bound and bristle;
The purging flame, the knife that probes,
Prepare our coronation robes.

The call that seems a threatening frown
May be our kingly cross or crown,
And open realms of royal chances;
The bars that like a coffin lid
Close round upon us and forbid,
May be truths more than all romances.
God lifts us to His loftiest end,
When first He maketh pride descend.

Earth looks so little and so dull,
Till to the places of the skull
At length our narrow pathway reaches;
But then at Golgotha we know,
That there and thus by stooping low
We gain the life that Calvary teaches.
And fill we must our fiery throne,
But we shall never reign alone.

250

July 31 TURNING-POINTS

“Turn thou me, and I shall be turned.”—Jer. xxxi. 18.

Dear Lord, those whom Thou dost anoint
With care or sorrow as a crown,
Find in some truth the turning-point—
Deeps into which they must go down;
Blank walls start up a stubborn prison,
Before their lives have rearisen.

They find no opening at the first,
No gateway through which feet may go,
No fountain that will quench their thirst,
No Altar fires with gracious glow;
But while they seem from God so banished,
At faith's bright touch the bounds have vanished.

Just at the one dim dreadful stop
Which looks the very close of all,
When weary flesh and blood would drop
In final shame and utter fall;
Then, like a cloud, the barriers lifting
Show roads of Glory through their rifting.

The end of everything was but
A fair beginning of the new,
The door in darkness grimly shut
Into God's Arms of welcome grew;
The loss was full free life's salvation,
The shroud our robes of coronation.