The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 11
LESS THAN NOTHING |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
85
March 11 LESS THAN NOTHING
“As having nothing, and yet possessing all things.”—
2 Cor. vi. 10.
Though less than nothing in Thy sight
Yet I am richer than I know,
And share a destiny of light
With Thee beyond the winds that blow;
Whate'er I touch will pale and pass,
The solid ground is crumbling dust
And worlds no more than summer grass,
But from their graves shall blossom trust.
There may be earth, but Heaven must be,
Because in all I see but Thee.
Yet I am richer than I know,
And share a destiny of light
With Thee beyond the winds that blow;
Whate'er I touch will pale and pass,
The solid ground is crumbling dust
And worlds no more than summer grass,
But from their graves shall blossom trust.
There may be earth, but Heaven must be,
Because in all I see but Thee.
The nearer realms that round me lie
Are not so very close and sweet,
As those that with a spirit tie
Do bind me to Thy Blessèd Feet;
For there are awful secret links,
Which in the heart's shy chamber shine
Beyond the stars, and he who thinks
His all in God will wax Divine.
Aye, as in prayer and praise I speak,
I stand on His own mountain peak.
Are not so very close and sweet,
As those that with a spirit tie
Do bind me to Thy Blessèd Feet;
For there are awful secret links,
Which in the heart's shy chamber shine
Beyond the stars, and he who thinks
His all in God will wax Divine.
Aye, as in prayer and praise I speak,
I stand on His own mountain peak.
The ocean, Lord, is wide and grand,
But Love is deeper and more large,
And while I look its heavenly land
Spreads out in spaces without marge.
And I have proved Thy kingdom here,
Within me, is more bright and great;
It drowns in glory every sphere,
Out-dazzled by my soul's estate.
For, in my Saviour, I have found
Music to which the spheres go round.
But Love is deeper and more large,
And while I look its heavenly land
Spreads out in spaces without marge.
86
Within me, is more bright and great;
It drowns in glory every sphere,
Out-dazzled by my soul's estate.
For, in my Saviour, I have found
Music to which the spheres go round.
I know my sorrow is Thy dress,
The nails are but the living proof
Thy hourly mercies on me press—
The Cross and shadow are my roof;
These thorns are badges of my rank
And sonship, ornaments that fill
This lot with beauty which were blank,
If tuned not to Thy blessèd Will;
I cannot fly, I cannot fall,
Save on and unto Thee in all.
The nails are but the living proof
Thy hourly mercies on me press—
The Cross and shadow are my roof;
These thorns are badges of my rank
And sonship, ornaments that fill
This lot with beauty which were blank,
If tuned not to Thy blessèd Will;
I cannot fly, I cannot fall,
Save on and unto Thee in all.
| The Prisoner of Love | |