The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 4
THE TWO OFFERS |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
73
March 4 THE TWO OFFERS
“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts ... how
much more shall your Father which is in heaven give
good things to them that ask him?”—St. Matt. vii. 11.
I asked for Calvary—they offered ease,
Success, and all the softer joys
Of sheltered life, that only asks to please
Itself with pretty times and toys;
I could have borne the brunt of iron woes,
But not the Judas hand of friendly foes
That decks with kisses and destroys.
Success, and all the softer joys
Of sheltered life, that only asks to please
Itself with pretty times and toys;
I could have borne the brunt of iron woes,
But not the Judas hand of friendly foes
That decks with kisses and destroys.
But there are summits that the soul must reach,
Although through bitter leagues of loss
And years that learn in trouble what they teach,
Above the waves that weep and toss;
Here only is the ever-flowing Fount,
This (where broods ever morning) is the Mount
O'ershadowed by an awful Cross.
Although through bitter leagues of loss
And years that learn in trouble what they teach,
Above the waves that weep and toss;
Here only is the ever-flowing Fount,
This (where broods ever morning) is the Mount
O'ershadowed by an awful Cross.
The watershed of the two worlds is here,
The threshold and dividing line;
One rests in cloud and misty atmosphere,
One holds and keeps the rainbow shine.
The sound of Sunday bells, a flame-like flower,
A glimpse of blue, a broken chord, have power
Here to reveal the Truth Divine.
The threshold and dividing line;
One rests in cloud and misty atmosphere,
One holds and keeps the rainbow shine.
The sound of Sunday bells, a flame-like flower,
A glimpse of blue, a broken chord, have power
Here to reveal the Truth Divine.
74
But I must be an exile, Lord, as Thou—
'Mid others whom I seek to save,
And wear Thy thorns upon a piercèd brow
Ere I enjoy the grace I crave;
But if an outcast in the pomp and pride
Of earth that thrusts me to Thy riven Side,
I shall meet Angels at Thy Grave.
'Mid others whom I seek to save,
And wear Thy thorns upon a piercèd brow
Ere I enjoy the grace I crave;
But if an outcast in the pomp and pride
Of earth that thrusts me to Thy riven Side,
I shall meet Angels at Thy Grave.
| The Prisoner of Love | |