The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 10
THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
83
March 10 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS
“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and
the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto
his death.”—Phil. iii. 10.
Thy sheltering shadow rests on me
And wraps us both within one veil,
Dear Saviour, whom in all I see—
When other visions fade and fail;
Joy without sorrow were not joy,
It needs the shadow to be true,
And would with utter sweetness cloy
Unless some clouds were in the blue;
It asks for a redeeming tear,
For Heaven and hell are very near.
And wraps us both within one veil,
Dear Saviour, whom in all I see—
When other visions fade and fail;
Joy without sorrow were not joy,
It needs the shadow to be true,
And would with utter sweetness cloy
Unless some clouds were in the blue;
It asks for a redeeming tear,
For Heaven and hell are very near.
But Thine is such a perfect store,
And Thou dost freely pour it out,
While still the sadness goes before
And faith is strengthened by the doubt.
Yet, ah! the dawnrise that I guess
And dimly track through life and loss,
Is light of Thy dread Loveliness
And wears the jewels of the Cross.
Those radiant fetters beam from far,
Our Morning and our Evening star.
And Thou dost freely pour it out,
While still the sadness goes before
And faith is strengthened by the doubt.
Yet, ah! the dawnrise that I guess
And dimly track through life and loss,
Is light of Thy dread Loveliness
And wears the jewels of the Cross.
Those radiant fetters beam from far,
Our Morning and our Evening star.
I am not even sure of self,
Nor of the little things so nigh—
The broken vase upon the shelf,
The tale betwixt a laugh and sigh;
But I am certain of Thy Love
With mighty thoughts that move the globe,
And I may like a homing dove
Nest in Thy Bosom 'neath Thy robe;
Yea, I do have a living part,
In Thee and in Thy bleeding Heart.
Nor of the little things so nigh—
The broken vase upon the shelf,
The tale betwixt a laugh and sigh;
84
With mighty thoughts that move the globe,
And I may like a homing dove
Nest in Thy Bosom 'neath Thy robe;
Yea, I do have a living part,
In Thee and in Thy bleeding Heart.
| The Prisoner of Love | |