The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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March 20
LABOUR OF LOVE |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
99
March 20 LABOUR OF LOVE
“Faith which worketh by love.”—Gal. v. 6.
Oro, laboro! Freedom is no gift,
For gallant strife;
It comes to souls that just in Christ uplift
Themselves and seek no wage of triumph won,
But see and do the duty to be done,
Living the life;
Nor man nor God Himself can this bestow,
It must upgrow.
For gallant strife;
It comes to souls that just in Christ uplift
Themselves and seek no wage of triumph won,
But see and do the duty to be done,
Living the life;
Nor man nor God Himself can this bestow,
It must upgrow.
We move among the eternities, the loves,
The faiths and fears;
Glimpsed at their splendid moments even as doves
White on the blue of the unfathomed deep,
Those flying visions pure, softer than sleep,
Sweeter than tears;
Betwixt two worlds we stand, but dwells my heart
With Christ apart.
The faiths and fears;
Glimpsed at their splendid moments even as doves
White on the blue of the unfathomed deep,
Those flying visions pure, softer than sleep,
Sweeter than tears;
Betwixt two worlds we stand, but dwells my heart
With Christ apart.
Oro, laboro! Now the prisoning bars
Take other shape:
They are but bridges leading to the stars,
Custodians kind that draw with closer bond
Man unto man and heaven and all, beyond
One soul's escape;
I cannot lift a hand, beneath the rod,
Not touching God.
Take other shape:
They are but bridges leading to the stars,
Custodians kind that draw with closer bond
Man unto man and heaven and all, beyond
One soul's escape;
I cannot lift a hand, beneath the rod,
Not touching God.
100
The pains beat out the music, and not thought
Though above fate;
Anguish that shuts us in as nought can do
Is but the shadow of God, and shuts in too
Christ at His Fulness, and His sufferings seal
Not separate;
He wears with us that crown, for ever worn,
Of blessèd thorn.
Though above fate;
Anguish that shuts us in as nought can do
Is but the shadow of God, and shuts in too
Christ at His Fulness, and His sufferings seal
Not separate;
He wears with us that crown, for ever worn,
Of blessèd thorn.
| The Prisoner of Love | |