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

I am not I—it cannot be,
Since all by God was bigger made,
And earth and Heaven revolve round Thee,
Dear Lord of sunshine and the shade;
Earth now is Heaven
And Heaven is earth,
Since Thou the Giver and the Given
Unitedst altar and the hearth.

I am not I—old nature died
When Jesus in the light of loss
Proved nothing ours or sanctified,
Till offered first upon the Cross;
Death now is living,
And living death
Which hath not learnt from free forgiving—
That Love is God's and manhood's breath.

I am not I—new Being came
And turned my heart His temple dome,
In Christ Himself who wrote His Name
On me because I was His home.
Now might is weakness
And weakness might,
For in me Christ who rules by meekness
Takes sin and all by Sovereign right.

285

September 2 SEEK NOT

“Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not.”— Jer. xlv. 5.

Seek not high portions or the powers
Which dazzle dupes of false ambition,
And yet when they are conquered dowers
Afford no rest or real fruition;
Seek not for lofty place or sway,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not the joy that is denied
And which when won is but a fetter,
But for the Truth if crucified
Thank God and know that this is better;
Seek not for happy hours or play,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not the knowledge that is vain
And puffeth up but without building,
Nor yet rewards that are not gain,
Nor take for gold the tawdry gilding;
Seek not for treasures grand or gay,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not for triumphs that are good
Which lie beyond thy meed or measure,
Nor ask to stand where Passion stood
Which trod a wider world at pleasure;
Seek not for crown of thorn or bay,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

286

September 3 DISCIPLINE

“Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Ps. xxiii. 4.

They say this earth of ours might yet be fitter,
More garbed with bliss and gracious meetness;
But, ah, I know there lurks a blessèd bitter
Right at the very soul of sweetness;
And who would ask for other charm or choice,
When in mid sorrow still we must rejoice?

There is a better joy behind the sadness,
And crowned by grief my life is greater;
We sleep in woe, but hearts then wake to gladness,
In that dear Love our recreator;
And there are fuller streams that start and run,
When all our heaven is like a setting sun.

I am content to know there is a meaning
Within each trouble and its tangle,
And the whole world though dimly yet is leaning
Upon the Light beneath the wrangle;
It is enough to feel there is a way,
And in the darkness still to walk with day.

The winds and waves of time that seem so vagrant
Are gathered in the Father's Bosom,
And winters and rude weathers still are fragrant
With some white purpose like a blossom;
And from the Saviour's bleeding steps will rise,
To go before us, regained Paradise.

287

September 4 BURDENS

“I will go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy.”—Ps. xliii. 4.

It is too great the burden of Thy Love,
It weighs upon me like the very sky,
I seem to bear the heavens themselves above
In its most dread and sweet infinity;
O Lord, my little heart can never hold
The Love that fills the worlds it doth enfold.

It is too great the burden of Thy Truth,
It flows about me like the ocean large
In tides that give the earth a deathless youth,
Without a measure and without a marge;
O Lord, my little mind was never meant
To be the compass of a continent.

It is too great the burden of Thy Will
Which worketh in me through the day and night,
So wonderful and wise, and leading still
These purblind gropings up to perfect Light;
O Lord, my little nature scarce can see
Thy Glory as it toileth after Thee.

They are too great these burdens, yet I know
That Thou art nigh in every fear or fall,
Above me and around me and below
And with me in the battle and through all;
Yea, though with sins I wrestle as with death,
The burdens shall be wings to bear my faith.

288

September 5 DEO LAUDES

‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory.”—Ps. cxv. 1.

Only the faults and frailties—they are mine,
The imperfections and the wrong;
And if my error sometimes seems to shine,
'Tis but some little seed of grace Divine;
To Thee alone doth praise belong,
From Matin bells to Evensong.

Whate'er I do or say in touch with Truth,
Each barren twig that bursts in flower
Is of Thy loving Life which gives it youth;
My words were ugly and my ways uncouth,
But for Thy Presence and Thy Power
At night and in the noontide hour.

Only the evil, Lord, is mine—the stain
Which clings to all my holiest things;
For yet though hidden clanks the earthly chain
Which ties to sinful pleasure which is pain,
And clogs my mounting angel wings—
Though Thou would'st make us crownèd kings.

But when my pathway chances to be straight
And through the dark world glimmers white,
Yet should I totter on with trembling gait
Or turn aside for every tempting bait,
But for Thy Goodness—in despite
Of Love, Love, Love, Love infinite.

289

September 6 MIRACLES IN COMMON THINGS

“Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”—Exod. iii. 5.

Ah, can I doubt Thee, Father dear,
A moment, or that boundless Love
Which is around me, is above
And in me, greater than my fear?
Each day its blessèd power I prove,
And ere my calling Thou dost hear.
The clouds are shadows of Thy wings,
Thy wonders work in common things.

The miracles of hourly grace
Are grander than my heart may know—
With breezes sing, with waters flow,
And on the desert leave their trace;
What is the highest, what below,
When earth and heaven reflect Thy Face?
Nought else I notice for that Light,
Wherewith the whole wide world is bright.

Open dark eyes, that they may see
Each bush with Thine own Glory bent
And every meal a sacrament—
Yea, the black night ablaze with Thee;
O make them pure and penitent,
And with Thy vision full and free.
Till they behold their all in God,
And God in all—though Mercy's rod.

290

September 7 OUR TRUTH AND TOWER

“Thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.”—Ps. lxi. 3.

Eternal God, our Truth and Tower,
Whose Word is law, whose Will is power,
O hear Thy servants' humble cry;
Thine is the battle, Thine the sword,
Which cannot wound but in accord
With Thy great Love and Liberty;
We cast ourselves and all our care
Upon Thy Breast in lowly prayer.

We learn that man may never come
Unto that hope which is our home,
Save through the Red Sea's cleansing flood;
And we must suffer sore and press
Through the long weary wilderness,
To that Redemption wrought by blood;
Nor may we win, except with fire,
The freedom of our full desire.

We have no refuge but in Thee
And from ourselves to Mercy flee,
Though we may not escape the strife;
And yet we know our troubles fell
Upon Thee first, and all is well,
And only out of death grows life;
Ah, if Thou slayest us, we will
Trust on and ever in Thee still.

291

September 8 GOD'S PICTURE

“Behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed.”—Exod. iii. 2.

O let me look and look again
Through every day and every hour,
At this great picture world of pain
Which is Thy very Heart in flower;
It is so beautiful that I
Would bare before Thee these rude feet,
Ere, Lord, I venture to draw nigh
Where God Himself and glory meet.

O let me breathe each passing breath
In awe and wonder at the sight,
And lead me to the larger faith
Which marks Thee most in utter night;
The visions of Thy Law of Love
Beyond these strivings and the stress,
They lift me till I live above
A life of simple Godlikeness.

O let me gaze and gaze until
My soul is soaked in every grace,
And Thou and Thou alone dost fill
With Thy dread Light the dreariest place;
It is too beautiful to bear,
This garment through which Thou dost shine,
And of Thy Grandeur I may wear
My little robe and be Divine.

292

September 9 GOD KNOWS

“I die daily.”—1 Cor. xv. 31.

None ever knows or can the strife
Upon the battle-field within,
Fought for our very death or life,
That doth each day anew begin;
Outside is calm, while in us still
The storm unending beats and blows,
But if no other heeds our ill—
God knows.

We move about with measured smile
As if our every pulse were well,
But O we carry all the while
Inside a secret raging hell;
Passion that utterance could not speak
In fiery surges ebbs and flows,
But though this human flesh is weak—
God knows.

Ah, many a Calvary of the heart
With many a Cross is builded there,
Nor is one hour without a part
In death that meets us everywhere;
The awful struggle, that must be—
If life would live, by dying grows,
But all from our Gethsemane
God knows.

293

September 10 SAY NOT

“Grieve not the holy Spirit of God.”—Eph. iv. 30.

Say not it cost the Father nought,
That Jesus lived and died for us;
When the tremendous Act was wrought
At Calvary on the Cross, and thus
He paid as well the awful price,
And every pang His Bosom bore;
Yea, could Redemption not suffice,
He would have given to sinners more.

Say not a single word or deed
Of Christ's was born without a pain,
Atonement was the precious seed
In all and cleansed some earthly stain;
There lurked a Passion in each breath
He drew in that great conquering strife,
For were there not perpetual Death
In every step where had been Life?

Say not the Spirit doth not feel
And suffer with our sufferings yet,
Nor while before the Cross we kneel
Mourn with us in no mute regret;
There are no cares or mortal dowers
Wherein each Person hath no part,
And to the tiniest throb of ours
Beats back in Love God's very Heart.

294

September 11 TRANSFORMATION

“I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.”—Rev. xxi. 1.

It never can be quite the same
Since first I felt Thy Presence near,
The whiteness in that Heart of Flame
Unstained by all reproach and fear;
Since I looked up into those Eyes
And heard the music of that Voice,
Which clothed the earth with bluer skies
And bade the barren fields rejoice.
It never can be quite the same,
Since first I leant upon Thy Name.

It never can be quite the same
Since I first in Thy Sanctuary knelt,
And from the earthly cloud of shame
Passed to the Glory where God dwelt;
Since I was offered at Thy Hands
The mystic Food of Life to eat,
And found fulfilling Thy commands
Within the Cross the Mercy-seat.
It never can be quite the same,
Since I did learn Thy secret Name.

Thy Names are many, Lord, and sweet—
The Holy Lamb, the Sacred Dove;
But all the truest, tenderest meet
In the one blessèd word of Love.

295

September 12 THE BLEEDING HEART

“They shall look upon me whom they have pierced.”— Zech. xii. 10.

I had a vision of a Bleeding Heart,
An awful unasked token
Of Death wherein I had a monstrous part—
The Body by me broken;
No word by Christ was spoken,
But yet the silence stabbed me like a dart;
And under the eclipsed accusing sky,
I reared again the Cross of Calvary.

I stood beneath it and by these red hands
The biting nails were driven,
While shadow fell on all the shaken lands
And the great rocks were riven;
Though I was there forgiven,
Ere I had burst from sin's bleak iron bands.
He sighed and said, “My brother, now arise,
And sup with Me to-day in Paradise.”

Some drops of His most Precious Blood then fell
Upon me from that Altar,
And raised me in the damning hold of hell
Ere faith had time to falter;
And like a solemn psalter,
His tender Voice (that told me all was well)
In Pardon breathed on me a blessing, more
Than earth with its enchantments ever bore.

296

September 13 THE MARKS

“I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.”—Gal. vi. 17.

He bade me take His bitter thorns and nails
To write on me each letter
And pierce this faithless heart, that often fails
Within the world's bright fetter;
For death itself were better,
Than life wherein the sordid flesh prevails.
He made me drink the dreadful cup so blest,
And stamped each stigma on my brow and breast.

Then I rose up in majesty of kings
By that dim door of sorrow,
I felt within me powers like angel wings
Nor needed ought to borrow;
There was no day or morrow,
For I had touched the very soul of things.
I see clear dawns now in the midnight darks,
Lit by the splendour of Christ's Wounds and Marks.

His own pure armour girds me in its Grace
And keeps my love yet lowly,
That I may look for ever on His Face;
And, if it be but slowly,
Still wax like Him more holy—
Conformed through fire and the stern steel's embrace.
For Christ is with me, and fulfils my part,
Who shrives His Brothers of the Bleeding Heart.

297

September 14 THE PRISONER OF LOVE

“I was in prison, and ye came unto me.”—St. Matt. xxv. 36.

What are my saddest, sorest pains,
The iron that enters in my heart
And holds it fast with hopeless chains,
When measured with Thy suffering part?
There is no bondage, Lord, like Thine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

I sorrow for a day or hour,
But Thou art never, never free
From that self-chosen dreadful dower
Which lays all burdens upon Thee;
For Thee no moment's rest may shine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

Our sins are gathered to Thy Breast
And shut Thee in like shadowy walls,
Each woe with which we are opprest
On Thee in endless Passion falls;
Our fears like fetters round Thee twine
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

For ever thus Thy Grace hath been
The bearer of our pangs or loss,
And in its Mercy stood between
Sin and the judgment of the Cross;
And yet what penance is not mine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine?

298

September 15 NO SADNESS

“In every thing by prayer . . . with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”—Phil. iv. 6.

These lips were given to us for praise,
Among ten thousand mercies sent;
And now we offer thanks, and raise
Our humble cry and penitent.
These hearts were made within for love
Which never even the angels had,
And larger than the heaven above—
How could a Christian then be sad?

These hands were moulded by Thy skill,
Dear Lord, as masters of their fate;
To work in concert with Thy Will,
As one with Thine own high estate.
These feet were meant for glorious things
To run Thine errands great and glad,
As borne on more than eagles' wings—
How could a Christian then be sad?

These lives were given as lamps to burn
In Thy sweet Presence and Thy hold,
With light and fragrance, and return
The beauty lent a hundred fold.
For we, whate'er we have and are,
By Thee alone are fed and clad,
And cross at length the harbour bar—
How could a Christian then be sad?

299

September 16 COMMUNION

“As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come.”—1 Cor. xi. 26.

The last dear supper of the Lord,
Where He is sitting yet
The Priest, the Sacrifice, the Word,
Is still for Christians set.

And somewhere it was always spread
By spirits true and fond,
The outpoured wine, the broken bread—
One bright continuous bond.

For Love could never let its name
Or use in darkness lie,
The inextinguishable flame
Without which earth would die.

There wealth and poverty were one,
The world forgat its toys;
And, in that memoried Service done,
All shared commensal joys.

And now goes on the Holy Meal
Wherein we each have part,
Whate'er our place, and sets its seal
On every humble heart.

There is no time nor troubled mood,
To which it cannot give
Our needy souls the Blessèd Food,
By which alone we live.

300

September 17 VIA DUCIS, VIA LUCIS, VIA CRUCIS

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”—St. John xiv. 6.

There is only one true Way
Which the Christian soldiers tread,
If they would not blindly stray
To the pitfalls of the dead.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very strait and very steep,
And the single Via Crucis
Where the pilgrims walk and weep.

But the Master trod it first
Whom we always must adore,
He will quench our bitter thirst
With His Love, and goes before.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very hard and very high,
And the solemn Via Crucis,
Though the Comforter is nigh.

Let us therefore without fear
Hasten on the holy track,
If we sometimes drop a tear,
Never looking vainly back.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very stony, very rough,
And the thorny Via Crucis—
But the Presence is enough.

301

September 18 GOD'S VOICES

“And after the fire a still small voice.”—1 Kings xix. 12.

We hear it sometimes in the day,
We never miss it through the night
When souls with Jesus watch and pray—
The music which is all our might.
And on the beaten upward way
Which struggles dimly towards the Light,
The songs which are our sunshine play
About each little deed of right.

God's Voices how we know not start,
And as a wind upon a wood
Bow with a more than mortal art
The stubborn pride that adverse stood.
And while of every joy a part
They gather through the world their food,
And murmur softly in the heart
Whene'er we think a thought of good.

It's not enough that man is strong
Or all his acts are wise and clever,
With steadfast hatred of the wrong
Or honest aim and high endeavour;
Unless he hears the heavenly song,
From which no earthly gulf can sever
Our lives, that rolls the stars along
And haunts the human mind for ever.

302

September 19 GOD'S BURDEN

“O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me.”—Isa. xxxviii. 14.

Lord, Thou are pledged, I humbly pray
And plead with awful reverence,
In many a solemn word and way
Which fetter Thine Omnipotence.
And Thou hast freely curbed Thy Might,
To help our little path of pains;
With precious limits though of Light,
And blessèd bonds and glorious chains.

I thank Thee that I cannot lose
The comfort of Thy captive Will,
Which makes Thee mine, and Thou dost choose
To be our willing Servant still.
Thou hast not ever grudged one claim
To man, though he a rebel stood;
And his most selfish act and aim,
Yet magnify Thy Brotherhood.

Great Prisoner of Love, I kiss
The Hands by Thine own Mercy bound;
Which draws a new Diviner bliss
From making earth Thy prison ground.
I worship boundless Love, that bare
The burden of my sore distress;
And cast myself, with all my care,
On Thy dear great Responsiveness.

303

September 20 THE MARTYRS

“Of whom the world was not worthy.”—Heb. xi. 38.

It seemed their bridal as they went
On to the splendour of that fate,
Which opened a new continent
And drew down heaven to be their gate;
They did not prize the parting breath,
Because they were in love with death.

The stake was but a blessèd throne
Whereon they reigned as crownèd kings,
And in the fiery wreath alone
They felt the clasp of marriage rings;
For there they held a solemn tryst,
And thus were wedded unto Christ.

It was the Passion of the Cross
Which conquered earth and all its pride,
They deemed that love was only loss
Which kept them from the Master's side;
Whatever cruel pangs might come,
They simply bore them to their Home.

Why should we ask to suffer less
When Christ so fully paid the price,
And woe is but the wedding dress
Which makes us one in sacrifice?
In every willing pulse of pain,
New life flows from His Wounds again.

304

September 21 MY ALL OF LIFE

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.”—Ps. lxxiii. 25.

My all of Life, my Blessèd Lord,
I ask no larger share of earth,
Than that Thou only canst afford—
Thou art mine Altar, Thou my Hearth;
I want no other world than Thine,
Thy Love, Thy Goodness, and the Grace
Which makes the humblest lot Divine—
Thou art my single Dwelling-place.

Rich past the grandest dreams am I
In the great Glory that Thou art,
For nothing ever was so nigh
As the warm beating of Thy Heart;
And every little drop of blood
Of me that in Thy Sweetness swims,
Like some deep river at its flood,
Just with Thy Godhead overbrims.

My Universe, my Soul of things,
I have no other Home than Thou
With all those mighty shadowings
Brighter than any sunshine now;
It is such awful joy to be—
Lapt in Thy Life from sordid stress,
While by a whole surrender free
And one with perfect Holiness.

305

September 22 THE OVER PLAN

“It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.”— Jer. x. 23.

Better a thousand thousand times, that man
Be broken on the rock
Of God's grand holy Law and perfect Plan
And suffer doom and shock;
Than gain a cheaper comfort, at the price
Of outraged Justice and unpardoned vice.
Love weighs forgiveness, that it may be true
First to itself and all,
And dares not grant what is no sinner's due
Ere his repented fall;
Love lingers for the offering that must come,
From prodigals who seek their Father's Home.

The great and awful dark of Destiny,
Is more than any light;
For He, who set in hearts eternity,
Must lead those hearts aright.
And loss alone, by its pure teaching, paves
The narrow path that climbs to Heaven by graves.
That larger vision which surpasses fact
Comes but through common things,
And in the homely round of human act
We grow the angel wings.
But all, baptizèd in the Spirit's Breath,
Find each new birth a passion and a death.

306

September 23 LOVING CORRECTION

“Afterward it (chastening) yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”— Heb. xii. 11.

I see that suffering lies around us all—
The shadow's threatening shape
Weds birth and bridal to the closing pall,
Whence no one shall escape;
Yet sorrow, with its blessings, doth not come
Unless to lead us Home.

Yea, in the larger view, though virtue's best
Fragrant with faith as spice
And breathed in beauty from a prayerful breast,
Be just as jewelled vice;
Yet even the doubt, which trammels me in dust,
In Mercy's eyes is trust.

My failures have a side, however dim,
Which only God can know;
And they do alway turn that face to Him,
Who walks with us below;
And fear is still, while fainting on the slope,
Another name for hope.

He judges not as we, and His great Plan
Takes the whole measure in,
And marks His own Divinity in man
Whose crown's but golden sin;
For the worst error strays inside that Love,
Like the blue sky above.

307

September 24 EST DEUS IN REBUS

“A door was opened in heaven.”—Rev. iv. 1.

The red rose blushes and the white rose weeps
And far above we think the great God sleeps,
But yet He holds and feels Himself each thorn
And tempers darkness with the kiss of morn;
Yea, in the passion of mid thunder,
We know His Voice is heard thereunder;
And, from the dimness of the awful deeps,
Intolerable Light at last is born,
Which cleaves the gates of hell asunder.

The west winds murmur and the south winds sigh
And there is silence in the courts on high,
While the world's riddle ever waxes more
As waves of grief break on the upper shore;
For all around lie scenes of sadness
And all within the thought is madness,
Though awful Truth stands strong and very high;
Yea death itself has kindness at its core,
And in each pulse of pain throbs gladness.

The tear and laughter yet are closest kin
And holiness was never far from sin,
While love and hatred in the same true heart
Do grow together and dwell not apart;
Ah, the divine hath human leaven
And Judas joins with the Eleven;
We end not with the grave, but there begin
The brighter founts which still in Time upstart,
And earth is but the door of Heaven.

308

September 25 MY LITTLE PATCH

“The Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden . . . to dress it and to keep it.”—Gen. ii. 15.

I have a little patch to keep,
I have a little hoe,
And up and down while others sleep
I toil along the row;
What matter if my tiny plot
Looks mean and others love it not,
If it is better so?

I'm hoeing without wages,
I'm hoeing day and night,
And as through endless ages
I'm hoeing till the light.

The thorns are very sharp and stand
Around with bristling spears,
The hoe grows heavy in my hand
Beneath the breath of fears;
And though my labour does not match
My rivals', yet I love my patch
And water it with tears.

It's weary work the hoeing
And learning as at school,
But yet I wait the growing—
I am the Maker's tool.

309

September 26 DEEP UNTO DEEP

“Thy judgments are a great deep.”—Ps. xxxvi. 6.

Deep calleth unto deep and heart on heart
Though a full world apart,
And man for him who is his brother cries
Across the centuries;
And time and space are nothing to the soul
A ray of God's grand universal whole,
Which looks before and after
And heeds not tears or laughter;
But keeps the guiding clue which runs through all
The future, past, and present,
Which binds the sunrise to the seeming fall
And crowns at last the peasant.

Deep calleth unto deep and man on man
Within the wider plan,
And gentle spirits for their kin unseen
Whatever lies between;
They come from old Eternity's great womb
Which is at once their mother and their tomb,
And marries them in beauty
Of the same death and duty;
And morn and midnight shed a common light
Round heads that are anointed,
To carry in their breasts the secret sight
And walk the path appointed.

310

September 27 THE LARGENESS OF LIFE

“Thou hast enlarged my steps under me.”—Ps. xviii. 36.

This life is large—yea, larger than our dreams
And breathes through many a spiracle;
Heaven haunts the gloomiest with its virgin gleams,
And each step is a miracle.
We grow by lapses and arise by falls,
Misfortune moves us on with trumpet calls
By dusty goals and glorious,
Till Jericho goes down with its grim walls,
By sheer defeat victorious.
O it is blessèd that we always win
And the white saint comes whiter out of sin,
While death is life and hell to heaven akin.

This life is large—it broadens up and out,
With angel arts and devilries;
We plumb the depths of faith by awful doubt,
And fasts we read through revelries.
From world to world we pass in skiey scale,
And none can bind though with the widest pale
The spirit's inbred spaciousness;
For when we think to tell its final tale,
It mounts to higher graciousness.
With thoughts eternal, do we edge the knife
Of petty sufferings and each passing strife—
Heaven is akin to hell and death is life.

311

September 28 MY CRADLE

“So he giveth his beloved sleep.”—Ps. cxxvii. 2.

I often cannot sleep at night
From thinking, Lord, of Thee;
Rocked in that cradle of delight,
Thy Hand which holdeth me.
I feel Thee, like my mother's dress,
Or her sweet casing glove;
And then I know the awfulness,
Of Thy most Present Love.
It filleth me with holy fire
And wrappeth round my frame,
Till with the fulness of desire
I nearly die of shame.

No words can utter half the care
Of those unearthly charms,
Which have in every sweet a share
And girdle me like arms.
They soothe at once my peevish pout,
As even more than kin;
They fold me tenderly about,
And tuck me warmly in.
I often seem to sink and drown
In seas of rosy bliss,
And go for ever washing down
Its deep unplumbed abyss.

312

September 29 A DREAM

“Wisdom hath builded her house, . . . she crieth . . . Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled. Forsake the foolish, and live.”—Prov. ix. 1, 3, 5, 6.

I had an awful dream, that God
Himself stooped down to earth and died,
But first in human weakness trod
Our every path ere crucified;
For, what He suffered, was our fate—
Though, when He dearly paid for sin
And opened wide the heavenly gate
For us, He would not enter in.

But still He wanders to and fro
And up and down the weary lands,
While yet one exile dwells below
Who bows not to His piercèd Hands;
He points to rebel wrath and pride
In glory which none else could win
That door, though He must wait outside
Until all souls have entered in.

It simply was a dream, but then
I knew the vision came from God,
Who daily lives and dies for men
And first lays on Himself the rod;
Ah, brother, how shall Mercy come
Unto its own if now you sin;
Or Christ feel Heaven indeed His Home,
When you refuse to enter in?

313

September 30 WANTS

“Without me ye can do nothing.”—St. John xv. 5.

We want Thee, Saviour, for each hour—
Nay, for the moment as it flies;
That we may rest upon that Power,
Wherein or earth or infant lies.

We want the keeping of Thy Love
Between us and the storm to stand;
As closely as the casing glove
Doth guard from soil the lily hand.

We want Thee, at the trifling turn
Of work or pleasure's careless tide;
Until our hearts within us burn,
When Thou art at our very side.

We want Thee, Saviour, in the flame
Of trial which were never crost,
Without the Presence and the Name,
And even in faith that suffers frost.

We want Thee ever and in all,
For weakness that is fashioned thus;
If we are rising, if we fall;
And Thou hast likewise need of us.

We want Thee, and Thou art akin
To souls that bear this earthly brand;
And, for each dark besetting sin,
There is Thy dear besetting Hand.