The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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October 5
BROKEN WINGS |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
319
October 5 BROKEN WINGS
“They . . . brake the pitchers that were in their hands.”—
Judges vii. 19.
O God, I want to soar, but cannot rise
From earth to Thy great Heaven,
Above the shining shame I do despise;
To pass, although through hell, to Paradise—
But for life's bitter leaven.
I feel within me awful hidden powers,
Which seek Thy Light like pale immurèd flowers
Forth-stretching to their sun;
And in my breast, like flame, all centuries' dowers
For ever leap and run.
But, though the eagle in me strain the strings,
Still in Thy Mercy break, O break these wings.
From earth to Thy great Heaven,
Above the shining shame I do despise;
To pass, although through hell, to Paradise—
But for life's bitter leaven.
I feel within me awful hidden powers,
Which seek Thy Light like pale immurèd flowers
Forth-stretching to their sun;
And in my breast, like flame, all centuries' dowers
For ever leap and run.
But, though the eagle in me strain the strings,
Still in Thy Mercy break, O break these wings.
It is no hour for creatures wrought of dust,
To dream of selfish flying;
When fragile ones in my poor pity trust
Or out of darkness with dim faces thrust,
And toil on dead or dying.
How shall I let the eagle in me flutter,
When woes eternal round me weep or mutter
The message I must hear?
How shall I dare that ecstasy to utter,
Dragged down by helpless fear?
Dear Father, though I have the strength of kings
In ocean tide, yet break these cruel wings.
To dream of selfish flying;
When fragile ones in my poor pity trust
Or out of darkness with dim faces thrust,
And toil on dead or dying.
How shall I let the eagle in me flutter,
When woes eternal round me weep or mutter
The message I must hear?
How shall I dare that ecstasy to utter,
Dragged down by helpless fear?
Dear Father, though I have the strength of kings
In ocean tide, yet break these cruel wings.
The Prisoner of Love | ||