The Good Shepherd

O Shepherd with the bleeding Feet, Good Shepherd with the pleading Voice, What seekest Thou from hill to hill? Sweet were the valley pastures, sweet The sound of flocks that bleat their joys, And eat and drink at will. Is one worth seeking, when Thou hast of Thine Ninety and nine?—

How should I stay my bleeding Feet, How should I hush my pleading Voice? I Who chose death and clomb a hill, Accounting gall and wormwood sweet, That hundredfold might bud My joys For love’s sake and good will. I seek My one, for all there bide of Mine Ninety and nine.

“Rejoice with me.”

Little Lamb, who lost thee?— I myself, none other.— Little Lamb, who found thee?— Jesus, Shepherd, Brother. Ah, Lord, what I cost Thee! Canst Thou still desire?— Still Mine arms surround thee, Still I lift thee higher, Draw thee nigher.

Shall not the judge of all the earth do right? Yea, Lord, altho’ Thou say me nay: Shall not His Will be to me life and light? Yea, Lord, altho’ Thou slay.

Yet, Lord, remembering turn and sift and see, Remember tho’ Thou sift me thro’, Remember my desire, remember me, Remember, Lord, and do.

Me and my gift: kind Lord, behold, Be not extreme to test or sift; Thy Love can turn to fire and gold Me and my gift.

Myself and mine to Thee I lift: Gather us to Thee from the cold Dead outer world where dead things drift.

If much were mine, then manifold Should be the offering of my thrift: I am but poor, yet love makes bold Me and my gift.

“He cannot deny Himself.”

Love still is Love, and doeth all things well, Whether He show me heaven or hell Or earth in her decay Passing away On a day.

Love still is Love, tho’ He should say, “Depart,” And break my incorrigible heart, And set me out of sight Widowed of light In the night.

Love still is Love, is Love, if He should say, “Come,” on that uttermost dread day; “Come,” unto very me, “Come where I be, Come and see.”

Love still is Love, whatever comes to pass: O Only Love, make me Thy glass, Thy pleasure to fulfil By loving still Come what will.

“Stain from the foundation of the world.”

Slain for man, slain for me, O Lamb of God, look down; Loving to the end look down, behold and see: Turn Thine Eyes of pity, turn not on us Thy frown, O Lamb of God, slain for man, slain for me.

Mark the wrestling, mark the race for indeed a crown; Mark our chariots how we drive them heavily; Mark the foe upon our track blasting thundering down, O Lamb of God, slain for man, slain for me.

Set as a Cloudy Pillar against them Thy frown, Thy Face of Light toward us gracious utterly; Help granting, hope granting, until Thou grant a crown, O Lamb of God, slain for man, slain for me.

Lord Jesu, Thou art sweetness to my soul: I to myself am bitterness: Regard my fainting struggle toward the goal, Regard my manifold distress, O Sweet Jesu.

Thou art Thyself my goal, O Lord my King: Stretch forth Thy hand to save my soul: What matters more or less of journeying? While I touch Thee I touch my goal, O Sweet Jesu.

I, Lord, Thy foolish sinner low and small, Lack all. His heart too high was set Who asked, What lack I yet? Woe’s me at my most woeful pass! I, Lord, who scarcely dare adore, Weep sore: Steeped in this rotten world I fear to rot. Alas! what lack I not? Alas! alas for me I alas More and yet more!—

Nay, stand up on thy feet, betaking thee To Me. Bring fear; but much more bring Hope to thy patient King: What, is My pleasure in thy death? I loved that youth who little knew The true Width of his want, yet worshipped with goodwill: So love I thee, and still Prolong thy day of grace and breath. Rise up and do.—

Lord, let me know mine end, and certify When I Shall die and have to stand Helpless on Either Hand, Cut off, cut off, my day of grace.— Not so: for what is that to thee? I see The measure and the number of thy day: Keep patience, tho’ I slay; Keep patience till thou see My Face. Follow thou Me.

“Because He first loved us.”

I was hungry, and Thou feddest me; Yea, Thou gavest drink to slake my thirst: O Lord, what love gift can I offer Thee Who hast loved me first?—

Feed My hungry brethren for My sake; Give them drink, for love of them and Me: Love them as I loved thee, when Bread I brake In pure love of thee.—

Yea, Lord, I will serve them by Thy grace; Love Thee, seek Thee, in them; wait and pray: Yet would I love Thyself, Lord, face to face, Heart to heart, one day.—

Let today fulfil its daily task, Fill thy heart and hand to them and Me: Tomorrow thou shalt ask, and shalt not ask Half I keep for thee.

Lord, hast Thou so loved us, and will not we Love Thee with heart and mind and strength and soul, Desiring Thee beyond our glorious goal, Beyond the heaven of heavens desiring Thee? Each saint, all saints cry out: Yea me, yea me, Thou hast desired beyond an aureole, Beyond Thy many Crowns, beyond the whole Ninety and nine unwandering family. Souls in green pastures of the watered land, Faint pilgrim souls wayfaring thro the sand, Abide with Thee and in Thee are at rest: Yet evermore, kind Lord, renew Thy quest After new wanderers; such as once Thy Hand Gathered, Thy Shoulders bore, Thy Heart caressed.

As the dove which found no rest For the sole of her foot, flew back To the ark her only nest And found safety there; Because Noah put forth his hand, Drew her in from ruin and wrack, And was more to her than the land And the air:

So my spirit, like that dove, Fleeth away to an ark Where dwelleth a Heart of Love, A Hand pierced to save, Tho’ the sun and the moon should fail, Tho’ the stars drop into the dark, And my body lay itself pale In a grave.

“Thou art fairer than the children of men.”

A rose, a lily, and the Face of Christ Have all our hearts sufficed: For He is Rose of Sharon nobly born, Our Rose without a thorn; And He is Lily of the Valley, He Most sweet in purity. But when we come to name Him as He is, Godhead, Perfection, Bliss, All tongues fall silent, while pure hearts alone Complete their orison.

“As the Apple Tree among the trees of the wood.”

As one red rose in a garden where all other roses are white Blossoms alone in its glory, crowned all alone In a solitude of own sweetness and fragrance of own delight, With loveliness not another’s and thorns its own; As one ruddy sun amid million orbs comely and colourless, Among all others, above all others is known; As it were alone in the garden, alone in the heavenly place, Chief and centre of all, in fellowship yet alone.

None other Lamb, none other Name, None other Hope in heaven or earth or sea, None other Hiding-place from guilt and shame, None beside Thee.

My faith burns low, my hope burns low, Only my heart’s desire cries out in me By the deep thunder of its want and woe, Cries out to Thee.

Lord, Thou art Life tho’ I be dead, Love’s Fire Thou art however cold I be: Nor heaven have I, nor place to lay my head, Nor home, but Thee.

“Thy friend and thy Father’s friend forget not.”

Friends, I commend to you the narrow way: Not because I, please God, will walk therein, But rather for the Love Feast of that day, The exceeding prize which whoso will may win. Earth is half spent and rotting at the core, Here hollow death’s heads mock us with a grin, Here heartiest laughter leaves us tired and sore. Men heap up pleasures and enlarge desire, Outlive desire, and famished evermore Consume themselves within the undying fire. Yet not for this God made us: not for this Christ sought us far and near to draw us nigher, Sought us and found and paid our penalties. If one could answer “Nay” to God’s command, Who shall say “Nay” when Christ pleads all He is For us, and holds us with a wounded Hand?

“Surely The bath borne our griefs.”

Christ’s Heart was wrung for me, if mine is sore; And if my feet are weary, His have bled; He had no place wherein to lay His Head; If I am burdened, He was burdened more. The cup I drink, He drank of long before; He felt the unuttered anguish which I dread; He hungered Who the hungry thousands fed, And thirsted Who the world’s refreshment bore.

If grief be such a looking-glass as shows Christ’s Face and man’s in some sort made alike, Then grief is pleasure with a subtle taste: Wherefore should any fret or faint or haste? Grief is not grievous to a soul that knows Christ comes,—and listens for that hour to strike.

“They toil not, neither do they spin.”

Clother of the lily, Feeder of the sparrow, Father of the fatherless, dear Lord, Tho’ Thou set me as a mark against Thine arrow, As a prey unto Thy sword, As a ploughed up field beneath Thy harrow, As a captive in Thy cord, [narrow] Let that cord be love; and someday make my Hallowed bed according to Thy Word. Amen.

Darkness and light are both alike to Thee: Therefore to Thee I lift my darkened face; Upward I look with eyes that fail to see, Athirst for future light and present grace. I trust the Hand of Love I scarcely trace. With breath that fails I cry, Remember me: Add breath to breath, so I may run my race That where Thou art there may Thy servant be. For Thou art gulf and fountain of my love, I unreturning torrent to Thy sea, Yea, Thou the measureless ocean for my rill: Seeking I find, and finding seek Thee still: And oh! that I had wings as hath a dove, Then would I flee away to rest with Thee.

“And now why tarriest thou?”

Lord, grant us grace to mount by steps of grace From grace to grace nearer, my God, to Thee; Not tarrying for tomorrow, Lest we lie down in sorrow And never see Unveiled Thy Face.

Life is a vapour vanishing in haste; Life is a day whose sun grows pale to set; Life is a stint and sorrow, One day and not the morrow; Precious, while yet It runs to waste.

Lord, strengthen us; lest fainting by the way We come not to Thee, we who come from far; Lord, bring us to that morrow Which makes an end of sorrow, Where all saints are On holyday.

Where all the saints rest who have heard Thy call, Have risen and striven and now rejoice in rest: Call us too home from sorrow To rest in Thee tomorrow; In Thee our Best, In Thee our All.

Have I not striven, my God, and watched and prayed? Have I not wrestled in mine agony? Wherefore still turn Thy Face of Grace from me? Is Thine Arm shortened that Thou canst not aid? Thy silence breaks my heart: speak tho’ to upbraid, For Thy rebuke yet bids us follow Thee. I grope and grasp not; gaze, but cannot see. When out of sight and reach my bed is made, And piteous men and women cease to blame Whispering and wistful of my gain or loss; Thou Who for my sake once didst feel the Cross, Lord, wilt Thou turn and look upon me then, And in Thy Glory bring to nought my shame, Confessing me to angels and to men?

“God is our Hope and Strength.”

Tempest and terror below; but Christ the Almighty above. Tho the depth of the deep overflow, tho’ fire run along on the ground, Tho’ all billows and flames make a noise,—and where is an Ark for the dove?— Tho’ sorrows rejoice against joys, and death and destruction abound: Yet Jesus abolisheth death, and Jesus Who loves us we love; His dead are renewed with a breath, His lost are the sought and the found. Thy wanderers call and recall, Thy dead men lift out of the ground; O Jesus, Who lovest us all, stoop low from Thy Glory above: Where sin hath abounded make grace to abound and to superabound, Till we gaze on Thee face unto Face, and respond to Thee love unto Love.

Day and night the Accuser makes no pause, Day and night protest the Righteous Laws, Good and Evil witness to man’s flaws; Man the culprit, man’s the ruined cause, Man midway to death’s devouring jaws And the worm that gnaws.

Day and night our Jesus makes no pause, Pleads His own fulfilment of all laws, Veils with His Perfections mortal flaws, Clears the culprit, pleads the desperate cause, Plucks the dead from death’s devouring jaws And the worm that gnaws.

O mine enemy Rejoice not over me! Jesus waiteth to be gracious: I will yet arise, Mounting free and far, Past sun and star, To a house prepared and spacious In the skies. Lord, for Thine own sake Kindle my heart and break; Make mine anguish efficacious Wedded to Thine own: Be not Thy dear pain, Thy Love in vain, Thou Who waitest to be gracious On Thy Throne.

Lord, dost Thou look on me, and will not I Launch out my heart to Heaven to look on Thee? Here if one loved me I should turn to see, And often think on him and often sigh, And by a tender friendship make reply To love gratuitous poured forth on me, And nurse a hope of happy days to be, And mean “until we meet” in each good-bye. Lord, Thou dost look and love is in Thine Eyes, Thy heart is set upon me day and night, Thou stoopest low to set me far above: O Lord, that I may love Thee make me wise; That I may see and love Thee grant me sight; And give me love that I may give Thee love.

“Peace I leave with you.”

Tumult and turmoil, trouble and toil, Yet peace withal in a painful heart; Never a grudge and never a broil, And ever the better part. O my King and my heart’s own choice, Stretch Thy Hand to Thy fluttering dove; Teach me, call to me with Thy Voice, Wrap me up in Thy Love.

O Christ our All in each, our All in all! Others have this or that, a love, a friend, A trusted teacher, a long worked for end: But what to me were Peter or were Paul Without Thee? fame or friend if such might be? Thee wholly will I love, Thee wholly seek, Follow Thy foot-track, hearken for Thy call. O Christ mine All in all, my flesh is weak, A trembling fawning tyrant unto me: Turn, look upon me, let me hear Thee speak: Tho’ bitter billows of Thine utmost sea Swathe me, and darkness build around its wall, Yet will I rise, Thou lifting when I fall, And if Thou hold me fast, yet cleave to Thee.

Because Thy Love hath sought me, All mine is Thine and Thine is mine: Because Thy Blood hath bought me, I will not be mine own but Thine.

I lift my heart to Thy Heart, Thy Heart sole resting-place for mine: Shall Thy Heart crave for my heart, And shall not mine crave back for Thine?

Thy fainting spouse, yet still Thy spouse; Thy trembling dove, yet still Thy dove; Thine own by mutual vows, By mutual love.

Recall Thy vows, if not her vows; Recall Thy Love, if not her love: For weak she is, Thy spouse, And tired, Thy dove.

“Life as the hart desireth the water brooks.”

My heart is yearning: Behold my yearning heart, And lean low to satisfy Its lonely beseeching cry, For Thou its fulness art.

Turn, as once turning Thou didst behold Thy Saint In deadly extremity; Didst look, and win back to Thee His will frighted and faint.

Kindle my burning From Thine unkindled Fire; Fill me with gifts and with grace That I may behold Thy Face, For Thee I desire.

My heart is yearning, Yearning and thrilling thro’ For Thy Love mine own of old, For Thy Love unknown, untold, Ever old, ever new.

“That where I am, there ye may be also.”

How know I that it looms lovely that land I have never seen, With morning-glories and heartsease and unexampled green, With neither heat nor cold in the balm-redolent air? Some of this, not all, I know; but this is so; Christ is there.

How know I that blessedness befalls who dwell in Paradise, The outwearied hearts refreshing, rekindling the worn-out eyes, All souls singing, seeing, rejoicing everywhere? Nay, much more than this I know; for this is so; Christ is there.

O Lord Christ, Whom having not seen I love and desire to love, O Lord Christ, Who lookest on me uncomely yet still Thy dove, Take me to Thee in Paradise, Thine own made fair; For whatever else I know, this thing is so; Thou art there.

“Judge not according to the appearance.”

Lord, purge our eyes to see Within the seed a tree, Within the glowing egg a bird, Within the shroud a butterfly:

Till taught by such, we see Beyond all creatures Thee, And hearken for Thy tender word, And hear it, “Fear not: it is I.”

My God, wilt Thou accept, and will not we Give aught to Thee? The kept we lose, the offered we retain Or find again. Yet if our gift were lost, we well might lose All for Thy use: Well lost for Thee, Whose love is all for us Gratuitous.

A chill blank world. Yet over the utmost sea The light of a coming dawn is rising to me, No more than a paler shade of darkness as yet; While I lift my heart, O Lord, my heart unto Thee Who hast not forgotten me, yea, Who wilt not forget. Forget not Thy sorrowful servant, O Lord my God, Weak as I cry, faint as I cry underneath Thy rod, Soon to lie dumb before Thee a body devoid of breath, Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, a sod to the sod: Forget not my life, O my Lord, forget not my death.

“The Chiefest among ten thousand.”

O Jesu, better than Thy gifts Art Thou Thine only Self to us! Palm branch its triumph, harp uplifts Its triumph-note melodious: But what are such to such as we? O Jesu, better than Thy saints Art Thou Thine only Self to us! The heart faints and the spirit faints For only Thee all-Glorious, For Thee, O only Lord, for Thee.