The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 14
NAIL PRINTS |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
90
March 14 NAIL PRINTS
“Bear ye one another's burdens.”—Gal. vi. 2.
“In his hands the print of the nails.”—St. John xx. 25.
O we must learn that but in vanquished ill
We raise a throne to have in Heaven its part,
And only thus the Master may fulfil
Himself as Servant in the suffering heart;
The ragged side of work, the loose rough ends
And broken pieces He will bless who can,
They bind us to His nails, and thus He bends
Us to His perfect plan.
We raise a throne to have in Heaven its part,
And only thus the Master may fulfil
Himself as Servant in the suffering heart;
The ragged side of work, the loose rough ends
And broken pieces He will bless who can,
They bind us to His nails, and thus He bends
Us to His perfect plan.
The work is His, the passion too He takes
And empties of the anguish and the sting,
For by the crown of thorns alone He makes
Through royal cares the subject also king;
And He who knows our labours' other side,
Through which to grace the task has dimly grown,
Kisses the knots and blots, and stoops to hide
Within His wounds our own.
And empties of the anguish and the sting,
For by the crown of thorns alone He makes
Through royal cares the subject also king;
And He who knows our labours' other side,
Through which to grace the task has dimly grown,
Kisses the knots and blots, and stoops to hide
Within His wounds our own.
The blemishes, the failures, as we deem,
Transfigured by His Love put on a dress
Divinely fair, and to His Mercy seem
The one true touch of final Loveliness;
Each erring stitch assumes a precious mark,
Print of the very Cross that Jesus bore,
And where our silent tears fell in the dark
He finds His jewelled store.
Transfigured by His Love put on a dress
Divinely fair, and to His Mercy seem
The one true touch of final Loveliness;
Each erring stitch assumes a precious mark,
Print of the very Cross that Jesus bore,
And where our silent tears fell in the dark
He finds His jewelled store.
91
It's Easter somewhere always, if we would,
And if we saw the Resurrection light,
The very grave is by that witness good
And every wrong at last eternal right;
Yea, and the scars on scathèd breast and brow
Themselves proclaim our Easter bliss and balm,
And prove in pressing benediction now
The Passion is the Palm.
And if we saw the Resurrection light,
The very grave is by that witness good
And every wrong at last eternal right;
Yea, and the scars on scathèd breast and brow
Themselves proclaim our Easter bliss and balm,
And prove in pressing benediction now
The Passion is the Palm.
| The Prisoner of Love | |