 | Songs for Sufferers |  |
18
CHRIST UNIVERSAL.
Christ's voice is on the wind, He standeth strong
In tempests as they whirl brown leaves along,
From each He takes some glory wild or willing;
He who, at matins and at evensong,
Finds some fulfilling.
He wreaks Himself in the red heart of flame,
And in the rose's petal is the same.
In tempests as they whirl brown leaves along,
From each He takes some glory wild or willing;
He who, at matins and at evensong,
Finds some fulfilling.
He wreaks Himself in the red heart of flame,
And in the rose's petal is the same.
O everywhere I see Him, and the sky
In rippling waves tells He is passing by,
The story of the Cross, the lands' rehearsal;
Each hill, each tree, is yet a Calvary—
Love universal.
The nails, that hang His likeness to the wall,
Pierce that dear Body on which hangeth all.
In rippling waves tells He is passing by,
The story of the Cross, the lands' rehearsal;
Each hill, each tree, is yet a Calvary—
Love universal.
The nails, that hang His likeness to the wall,
Pierce that dear Body on which hangeth all.
Christ's hand still holdeth up the human frame,
And stays my pilgrim steps though weak and lame,
I mark the beauty of the blessed stigma;
Or when I sink in depths of utter shame,
He reads the enigma.
And from His open wounds, that ruddy drip,
I reap repose and fairest fellowship.
And stays my pilgrim steps though weak and lame,
I mark the beauty of the blessed stigma;
Or when I sink in depths of utter shame,
He reads the enigma.
And from His open wounds, that ruddy drip,
I reap repose and fairest fellowship.
| Songs for Sufferers | |