 | Songs for Sufferers |  |
20
MY SACRAMENTAL LIFE.
The bread I ate, the early cup first taken,
They were the worship of my prison pent
Wherein my heart to the Eternal went;
I sometimes thought the room itself was shaken,
In the great Mystery of the Sacrament.
I saw the sacred chalice in my cup,
The broken bread was Christ there opened up.
They were the worship of my prison pent
Wherein my heart to the Eternal went;
I sometimes thought the room itself was shaken,
In the great Mystery of the Sacrament.
I saw the sacred chalice in my cup,
The broken bread was Christ there opened up.
Yea, and I felt each meal was an oblation,
The gift of God to Him returned, that drew
The double sweet of morn and evening dew;
Each morsel was a crumb of revelation,
Inspiring me to praises old and new.
No mouthful but was a communion, knit
By awful sanctions to the Infinite.
The gift of God to Him returned, that drew
The double sweet of morn and evening dew;
Each morsel was a crumb of revelation,
Inspiring me to praises old and new.
No mouthful but was a communion, knit
By awful sanctions to the Infinite.
The Hosts of Heaven about me seemed to muster,
I heard the tramp of multitudinous feet,
That knew the solemn act they came to greet;
Each ray of light put on a reverend lustre,
As though the seen and unseen there would meet.
God was at work, His sanctifying will
Was thus creating and transforming still.
I heard the tramp of multitudinous feet,
That knew the solemn act they came to greet;
Each ray of light put on a reverend lustre,
As though the seen and unseen there would meet.
God was at work, His sanctifying will
Was thus creating and transforming still.
| Songs for Sufferers | |