 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
1
THE HOURS OF THE PASSION
EVENING
O Master, let me go!
The air is fair and still,
The dews of sunset steep
The flowers upon the hill;
All the wild skies are pale,
All the wide earth lies free;
Let me now wander forth
To dream of love and Thee;
To linger at my will
Along the purple vales:
There will I find a secret flower,
That all its heart exhales:—
Its heart to Thee exhales.
Let me go!
The air is fair and still,
The dews of sunset steep
The flowers upon the hill;
All the wild skies are pale,
All the wide earth lies free;
Let me now wander forth
To dream of love and Thee;
To linger at my will
Along the purple vales:
There will I find a secret flower,
That all its heart exhales:—
Its heart to Thee exhales.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
This hour is Mine and thine,
I have made fast the door
Though thou, My prisoner, pine:
The table I prepare,
With thee I come to sup,
Bitter the herbs we share,
And bitter is the cup.
I will not let thee go!
This hour is Mine and thine,
I have made fast the door
Though thou, My prisoner, pine:
The table I prepare,
With thee I come to sup,
Bitter the herbs we share,
And bitter is the cup.
I will not let thee go!
2
TWILIGHT
O Shepherd, let me go!
Under the evening stars;
Within my breast there swells
Music in lines and bars;
I hear a song that calls,
A song of heaven and Thee,
Its words are echoes blown
From where the winds sweep free;
Oh, let me out one hour,
One hour of liberty,
And I will bring Thee back my song,
And sing my song to Thee;—
My song of heaven and Thee.
Let me go!
Under the evening stars;
Within my breast there swells
Music in lines and bars;
I hear a song that calls,
A song of heaven and Thee,
Its words are echoes blown
From where the winds sweep free;
Oh, let me out one hour,
One hour of liberty,
And I will bring Thee back my song,
And sing my song to Thee;—
My song of heaven and Thee.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
Here art thou closely pent;
With thee is My desire
To seal My testament;
With Body and Blood I keep
With thee a solemn tryst;
A Song of songs shall be,
A holy Eucharist.
I will not let thee go!
Here art thou closely pent;
With thee is My desire
To seal My testament;
With Body and Blood I keep
With thee a solemn tryst;
A Song of songs shall be,
A holy Eucharist.
I will not let thee go!
MIDNIGHT
O Lover, let me go!
This is the hour for sleep;
All tender things of earth
Lie folded soft and deep;
Worn out am I, and spent,
My heavy eyelids close,
Worse is this weariness
Than slave or captive knows;
Let me lie down and sleep,
And dream of things divine,
And in the morning wake and lift
A face refreshed to Thine;—
My face, Beloved, to Thine.
Let me go!
This is the hour for sleep;
All tender things of earth
Lie folded soft and deep;
3
My heavy eyelids close,
Worse is this weariness
Than slave or captive knows;
Let me lie down and sleep,
And dream of things divine,
And in the morning wake and lift
A face refreshed to Thine;—
My face, Beloved, to Thine.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
All others are asleep;
The hour is come, when thou
A watch with Me must keep.
What though the fainting heart
Break in unanswered cry;
What though the life-blood start
In drops of agony?
I will not let thee go!
All others are asleep;
The hour is come, when thou
A watch with Me must keep.
What though the fainting heart
Break in unanswered cry;
What though the life-blood start
In drops of agony?
I will not let thee go!
DAWN
O Guardian, let me go!
Early my heart has stirred
My heart wakes ere the dawn,
As in its nest the bird.
I will go forth alone,
No one on me shall look,
Where the low berries hang
Beside the hidden brook.
Between the dark and dawn,
Down meadow paths I flee;
And home will carry through the dew
A basket filled for Thee;—
My gathered fruit for Thee.
Let me go!
Early my heart has stirred
My heart wakes ere the dawn,
As in its nest the bird.
I will go forth alone,
No one on me shall look,
Where the low berries hang
Beside the hidden brook.
Between the dark and dawn,
Down meadow paths I flee;
4
A basket filled for Thee;—
My gathered fruit for Thee.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
A thousand lips disgrace,
A thousand eyes of scorn,
Fasten upon My face;
Their fingers mock and point;—
I need thee, thee alone;
Give Me thine eyes, this hour,
Fixed, fixed, upon My own.
I will not let thee go!
A thousand lips disgrace,
A thousand eyes of scorn,
Fasten upon My face;
Their fingers mock and point;—
I need thee, thee alone;
Give Me thine eyes, this hour,
Fixed, fixed, upon My own.
I will not let thee go!
MORNING
O Saviour, let me go!
Who can withstand that cry?
That piercing cry that rings
Where none but foes are nigh;
The moan of scourgèd slave,
The sobs of friendless child,
Oh, let me serve and save
Thy helpless, Thy reviled!
Oh, let me hence in haste,
Thy prisoners to unbind,
Thy famishing and faint to feed,
Thy little ones to find;
Thy lost, thy lambs, to find.
Let me go!
Who can withstand that cry?
That piercing cry that rings
Where none but foes are nigh;
The moan of scourgèd slave,
The sobs of friendless child,
Oh, let me serve and save
Thy helpless, Thy reviled!
Oh, let me hence in haste,
Thy prisoners to unbind,
Thy famishing and faint to feed,
Thy little ones to find;
Thy lost, thy lambs, to find.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
Am I, then, savèd? See!
Pity nor help is none
This hour for Mine or Me.
Mine eyes are blind with blood,
My moan is in thine ear;
Where mangled worms lie low
Thy place is with me here.
I will not let thee go!
Am I, then, savèd? See!
5
This hour for Mine or Me.
Mine eyes are blind with blood,
My moan is in thine ear;
Where mangled worms lie low
Thy place is with me here.
I will not let thee go!
DAY
O Sovereign, let me go!
It is the prime of day;
Fresh flowers I go to find,
I know the cool, green way.
Down in Thy garden grows
The Flower of Silence sweet,
Thy garden of the Rose,
Where all the Roses meet.
Thy Roses wait—they know
Their secret—soon to fall;
Their heads bow down to make a crown,
For Thee, the King of all;—
To crown Thee King of all.
Let me go!
It is the prime of day;
Fresh flowers I go to find,
I know the cool, green way.
Down in Thy garden grows
The Flower of Silence sweet,
Thy garden of the Rose,
Where all the Roses meet.
Thy Roses wait—they know
Their secret—soon to fall;
Their heads bow down to make a crown,
For Thee, the King of all;—
To crown Thee King of all.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
Nor loose thine iron bands;
Here am I King, and thou
The victim of My hands.
I wear a crown of thorns,
My raiment drips with red;
And the same crowning sign
I bind upon thy head.
I will not let thee go!
Nor loose thine iron bands;
Here am I King, and thou
The victim of My hands.
I wear a crown of thorns,
My raiment drips with red;
And the same crowning sign
I bind upon thy head.
I will not let thee go!
6
NOON
O Conqueror, let me go!
It is the breadth of noon;
The hum of busy men
Is with the bees in tune.
Their wheel of work goes round
Thy purpose to fulfil,
Let me into the world,
Therein to do Thy will;
But half the day is left
My labour to complete,
Then will I bring it home at night,
And lay it at Thy feet;—
My service at Thy feet.
Let me go!
It is the breadth of noon;
The hum of busy men
Is with the bees in tune.
Their wheel of work goes round
Thy purpose to fulfil,
Let me into the world,
Therein to do Thy will;
But half the day is left
My labour to complete,
Then will I bring it home at night,
And lay it at Thy feet;—
My service at Thy feet.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
My hands and feet pierced through
With nails behold! and thine
Therewith are fastened too;
The world lies fair and wide
Outspread beneath this Tree,
Yet shall it not divide
One moment Me from thee.
I will not let thee go!
My hands and feet pierced through
With nails behold! and thine
Therewith are fastened too;
The world lies fair and wide
Outspread beneath this Tree,
Yet shall it not divide
One moment Me from thee.
I will not let thee go!
AFTERNOON
O Lord, let me not go!
All other things are past;
In heaven, in earth below,
I see but Thee at last!
Darkness, and deeps of death,
The sun has gone from space;
Out of the whole abyss
One star remains—Thy Face.
Sinking in unknown seas,
Lost from all hope of land,
I seek a Cross to cling unto,
And only find Thy Hand;—
My soul is in Thy Hand.
Wilt Thou let go?
All other things are past;
In heaven, in earth below,
I see but Thee at last!
7
The sun has gone from space;
Out of the whole abyss
One star remains—Thy Face.
Sinking in unknown seas,
Lost from all hope of land,
I seek a Cross to cling unto,
And only find Thy Hand;—
My soul is in Thy Hand.
Wilt Thou let go?
But all is finished now:—
The hours were long and slow;
Though fast they flew and free
For those I do not know;
But through the night, the day,
Through all the weight of woe,
Thou hast not stirred from Me,
I have not let thee go.
I have not let thee go!
The hours were long and slow;
Though fast they flew and free
For those I do not know;
But through the night, the day,
Through all the weight of woe,
Thou hast not stirred from Me,
I have not let thee go.
I have not let thee go!
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |