The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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November 9
I LOVE THEE |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
357
November 9 I LOVE THEE
“The Son of man must suffer many things.”—St. Luke ix. 22.
Not for Thy grand and glorious Light—
I cannot brook the blaze of noon,
And ask not for its perfect boon
When praise is swallowed up in sight—
I love Thee, Saviour, not for this,
And the unutterable bliss.
Not for the greatness of the Power,
Which crushes me with the defence
Of a most dread Omnipotence,
Though with the petal of a flower—
I love Thee, Master, not for this,
But for those Human Eyes that kiss.
I cannot brook the blaze of noon,
And ask not for its perfect boon
When praise is swallowed up in sight—
I love Thee, Saviour, not for this,
And the unutterable bliss.
Not for the greatness of the Power,
Which crushes me with the defence
Of a most dread Omnipotence,
Though with the petal of a flower—
I love Thee, Master, not for this,
But for those Human Eyes that kiss.
Not for the ocean of Thy Truth
Which is the very air I breathe,
And doth illumine and enwreathe
The world with dower of endless youth—
I love Thee, Saviour, for Thy fears
And mortal doubts and mortal tears.
Not for the Mercy, which would spare
My rebel spirit in its pride
And plant a traitor by His side,
Or bid me in that Beauty share—
I love Thee, Master, for the meed
Which gave Thee all our earthly need.
Which is the very air I breathe,
And doth illumine and enwreathe
The world with dower of endless youth—
I love Thee, Saviour, for Thy fears
And mortal doubts and mortal tears.
Not for the Mercy, which would spare
My rebel spirit in its pride
And plant a traitor by His side,
Or bid me in that Beauty share—
I love Thee, Master, for the meed
Which gave Thee all our earthly need.
The Prisoner of Love | ||