The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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February 6
OUR PICTURE |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
44
February 6 OUR PICTURE
“I am black, but comely.”—Sol. Song i. 5.
“I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.”—
Ps. xvii. 15.
God giveth each a sketch to fill,
It may be but a little line
Or touch of colour here and there;
And we, alike through good and ill,
Must find the form to make Divine
And draw our colours—none knows where.
He drops a hope or leaves a hint,
We paint the final tone and tint.
It may be but a little line
Or touch of colour here and there;
And we, alike through good and ill,
Must find the form to make Divine
And draw our colours—none knows where.
He drops a hope or leaves a hint,
We paint the final tone and tint.
Now links are lost and blurring shades
Then meet us, as we vainly try
At first the true design to see;
And, ere it's ours, the vision fades,
It follows all mortality—
The sentence laid on tower and tree.
In foolish means we fancy ends,
And unto nought our labour tends.
Then meet us, as we vainly try
At first the true design to see;
And, ere it's ours, the vision fades,
It follows all mortality—
The sentence laid on tower and tree.
In foolish means we fancy ends,
And unto nought our labour tends.
Until from idle stress and strife
We learn the lessons God would give,
The last and true and heavenly art;
Until we mix our paints with life
And bruise the colours that will live,
With blessed wounds and bleeding heart.
Then, if we bring the broken whole,
We find the picture with the soul.
We learn the lessons God would give,
The last and true and heavenly art;
Until we mix our paints with life
And bruise the colours that will live,
With blessed wounds and bleeding heart.
Then, if we bring the broken whole,
We find the picture with the soul.
The Prisoner of Love | ||