The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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August 1
I PRAYED |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
251
August 1 I PRAYED
“For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart
from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for
thee”—2 Cor. xii. 8, 9.
I prayed the troubled night would cease,
I prayed for respite or release
From care with crucifying bond;
I looked into the dark and dust,
Nor lifted up my lamp of trust
Which bade me look from earth beyond.
I prayed for light that seemed delaying,
But, ah, my lips alone were praying.
I prayed for respite or release
From care with crucifying bond;
I looked into the dark and dust,
Nor lifted up my lamp of trust
Which bade me look from earth beyond.
I prayed for light that seemed delaying,
But, ah, my lips alone were praying.
I prayed, though I had mastered not
The lessons of my suffering lot,
Which Love in larger mercy gave;
I wanted to be strong and wise
And win an easy Paradise,
But not to lie within the grave.
The crown was all my poor petition,
Without the Cross its one transition.
The lessons of my suffering lot,
Which Love in larger mercy gave;
I wanted to be strong and wise
And win an easy Paradise,
But not to lie within the grave.
The crown was all my poor petition,
Without the Cross its one transition.
I prayed in midnight murk of doubt
And deemed the shadows dwelt without,
When they were only in my pride;
I thought to take the splendid spoil
Escaping trials and the toil,
When the whole darkness was inside;
I prayed, but did not like the paying,
Till I had learnt that life was praying.
And deemed the shadows dwelt without,
When they were only in my pride;
I thought to take the splendid spoil
Escaping trials and the toil,
When the whole darkness was inside;
I prayed, but did not like the paying,
Till I had learnt that life was praying.
The Prisoner of Love | ||