Worship God

Lord, if Thy word had been “Worship Me not, For I than thou am holier: draw not near:” We had besieged Thy Face with prayer and tear, And manifold abasement in our lot, Our crooked ground, our thorned and thistled plot; Envious of flawless Angels in their sphere, Envious of brutes, and envious of the mere Unliving and undying unbegot. But now Thou hast said, “Worship Me, and give Thy heart to Me, My child:” now therefore we Think twice before we stoop to worship Thee: We proffer half a heart while life is strong And strung with hope; so sweet it is to live! Wilt Thou not wait? Yea, Thou hast waited long.

“Afterward he repented, and went.”

Lord, when my heart was whole I kept it back And grudged to give it Thee. Now then that it is broken, must I lack Thy kind word “Give it Me”? Silence would be but just, and Thou art just. Yet since I lie here shattered in the dust, With still an eye to lift to Thee, A broken heart to give, I think that Thou wilt bid me live, And answer “Give it Me.”

“Are they not all Ministering Spirits?”

Lord, whomsoever Thou shalt send to me, Let that same be Mine Angel predilect: Veiled or unveiled, benignant or austere, Aloof or near; Thine, therefore mine, elect.

So may my soul nurse patience day by day, Watch on and pray Obedient and at peace; Living a lonely life in hope, in faith; Loving till death, When life, not love, shall cease.

...Lo, thou mine Angel with transfigured face Brimful of grace, Brimful of love for me! Did I misdoubt thee all that weary while, Thee with a smile For me as I for thee?

Our life is long. Not so, wise Angels say Who watch us waste it, trembling while they weigh Against eternity one squandered day.

Our life is long. Not so, the Saints protest, Filled full of consolation and of rest: “Short ill, long good, one long unending best.”

Our life is long. Christ’s word sounds different: “Night cometh: no more work when day is spent.” Repent and work to-day, work and repent.

Lord, make us like Thy Host who day nor night Rest not from adoration, their delight, Crying “Holy, Holy, Holy,” in the height.

Lord, make us like Thy Saints who wait and long Contented: bound in hope and freed from wrong They speed (may be) their vigil with a song.

Lord, make us like Thyself: for thirty-three Slow years of toil seemed not too long to Thee, That where Thou art there Thy Beloved might be.

Lord, what have I to offer? sickening fear And a heart-breaking loss. Are these the cross Thou givest me? then dear I will account this cross.

If this is all I have, accept even this Poor priceless offering, A quaking heart with all that therein is, O Thou my thorn-crowned King.

Accept the whole, my God, accept my heart And its own love within: Wilt Thou accept us and not sift apart? —Only sift out my sin.

Joy is but sorrow, While we know It ends to-morrow:— Even so! Joy with lifted veil Shows a face as pale As the fair changing moon so fair and frail.

Pain is but pleasure, If we know It heaps up treasure:— Even so! Turn, transfigured Pain, Sweetheart, turn again, For fair thou art as moonrise after rain.

Can I know it?—Nay.— Shall I know it?—Yea, When all mists have cleared away Forever and aye.—

Why not then to-day?— Who hath said thee nay? Lift a hopeful heart and pray In a humble way.—

Other hearts are gay.— Ask not joy to-day: Toil to-day along thy way Keeping grudge at bay.—

On a past May-day Flowers pranked all the way; Nightingales sang out their say On a night of May.—

Dost thou covet May On an Autumn day? Foolish memory saith its say Of sweets past away.—

Gone the bloom of May, Autumn beareth bay: Flowerless wreath for head grown grey Seemly were to-day.—

Dost thou covet bay? Ask it not to-day: Rather for a palm-branch pray; None will say thee nay.

“When my heart is vexed I will complain.”

“The fields are white to harvest, look and see, Are white abundantly. The full-orbed harvest moon shines clear, The harvest time draws near, Be of good cheer.”

“Ah, woe is me! I have no heart for harvest time, Grown sick with hope deferred from chime to chime.”

“But Christ can give thee heart Who loveth thee: Can set thee in the eternal ecstasy Of His great jubilee: Can give thee dancing heart and shining face, And lips filled full of grace, And pleasures as the rivers and the sea. Who knocketh at His door He welcomes evermore: Kneel down before That ever-open door (The time is short) and smite Thy breast, and pray with all thy might.”

“What shall I say?” “Nay, pray. Tho’ one but say Thy Will ’be done,’ He hath not lost his day At set of sun.”

“Praying always.”

After midnight, in the dark The clock strikes one, New day has begun. Look up and hark! With singing heart forestall the carolling lark.

After mid-day, in the light The clock strikes one, Day-fall has begun. Cast up, set right The day’s account against the on-coming night.

After noon and night, one day For ever one Ends not, once begun. Whither away, O brothers and O sisters? Pause and pray.

“As thy days, so shall thy strength be.”

Day that hath no tinge of night, Night that hath no tinge of day, These at last will come to sight Not to fade away.

This is twilight that we know, Scarcely night and scarcely day; This hath been from long ago Shed around man’s way:

Step by step to utter night, Step by step to perfect day, To the Left Hand or the Right Leading all away.

This is twilight: be it so; Suited to our strength our day: Let us follow on to know, Patient by the way.

A heavy heart, if ever heart was heavy, I offer Thee this heavy heart of me. Are such as this the hearts Thou art fain to levy To do and dare for Thee, to bleed for Thee? Ah, blessed heaviness, if such they be!

Time was I bloomed with blossom and stood leafy How long before the fruit, if fruit there be: Lord, if by bearing fruit my heart grows heavy, Leafless and bloomless yet accept of me The stripped fruit-bearing heart I offer Thee.

Lifted to Thee my heart weighs not so heavy. It leaps and lightens lifted up to Thee; It sings, it hopes to sing amid the bevy Of thousand thousand choirs that sing, and see Thy Face, me loving, for Thou lovest me.

If love is not worth loving, then life is not worth living, Nor aught is worth remembering but well forgot; For store is not worth storing and gifts are not worth giving, If love is not;

And idly cold is death-cold, and life-heat idly hot, And vain is any offering and vainer our receiving, And vanity of vanities is all our lot.

Better than life’s heaving heart is death’s heart unheaving, Better than the opening leaves are the leaves that rot, For there is nothing left worth achieving or retrieving, If love is not.

What is it Jesus saith unto the soul? “Take up the Cross, and come and follow Me.” One word He saith to all men: none may be Without a cross yet hope to touch the goal. Then heave it bravely up, and brace thy whole Body to bear; it will not weigh on thee Past strength; or if it crush thee to thy knee Take heart of grace, for grace shall be thy dole.

Give thanks to-day, and let to-morrow take Heed to itself; to-day imports thee more, To-morrow may not dawn like yesterday: Until that unknown morrow go thy way, Suffer and work and strive for Jesus’ sake:— Who tells thee what to-morrow keeps in store?

They lie at rest, our blessed dead; The dews drop cool above their head, They knew not when fleet summer fled.

Together all, yet each alone; Each laid at rest beneath his own Smooth turf or white allotted stone.

When shall our slumber sink so deep, And eyes that wept and eyes that weep Weep not in the sufficient sleep?

God be with you, our great and small, Our loves, our best beloved of all, Our own beyond the salt sea-wall.

“Ye that fear him, both small and great.”

Great or small below, Great or small above; Be we Thine, whom Thou dost know And love;

First or last on earth, First or last in Heaven; Only weighted with Thy worth, And shriven.

Wise or ignorant, Strong or weak; Amen; Sifted now, cast down, in want:— But then?

Then,—when sun nor moon, Time nor death, finds place, Seeing in the eternal noon Thy Face:

Then,—when tears and sighing, Changes, sorrows, cease; Living by Thy Life undying In peace:

Then,—when all creation Keeps its jubilee, Crowned amid Thy holy nation; Crowned, discrowned, in adoration Of Thee.

“Called to be Saints.”

The lowest place. Ah, Lord, how steep and high That lowest place whereon a saint shall sit! Which of us halting, trembling, pressing nigh, Shall quite attain to it?

Yet, Lord, Thou pressest nigh to hail and grace Some happy soul, it may be still unfit For Right Hand or for Left Hand, but whose place Waits there prepared for it.

The sinner’s own fault? So it was. If every own fault found us out, Dogged us and hedged us round about, What comfort should we take because Not half our due we thus wrung out?

Clearly his own fault. Yet I think My fault in part, who did not pray But lagged and would not lead the way. I, haply, proved his missing link. God help us both to mend and pray.

Who cares for earthly bread tho’ white? Nay, heavenly sheaf of harvest corn! Who cares for earthly crown to-night? Nay, heavenly crown to-morrow morn! I will not wander left or right, The straightest road is shortest too; And since we hold all hope in view And triumph where is no more pain, To-night I bid good night to you And bid you meet me there again.

Laughing Life cries at the feast,— Craving Death cries at the door,— “Fish, or fowl, or fatted beast?” “Come with me, thy feast is o’er.”— “Wreathe the violets.”—“Watch them fade.”— “I am sunshine.”—“I am shade: I am the sun-burying west.”— “I am pleasure.”—“I am rest: Come with me, for I am best.”

“The end is net yet.”

Home by different ways. Yet all Homeward bound thro’ prayer and praise, Young with old, and great with small, Home by different ways.

Many nights and many days Wind must bluster, rain must fall, Quake the quicksand, shift the haze.

Life hath called and death will call Saints who praying kneel at gaze, Ford the flood or leap the wall, Home by different ways.

Who would wish back the Saints upon our rough Wearisome road? Wish back a breathless soul Just at the goal? My soul, praise God For all dear souls which have enough.

I would not fetch one back to hope with me A hope deferred, To taste a cup that slips From thirsting lips:— Hath he not heard And seen what was to hear and see?

How could I stand to answer the rebuke If one should say: “O friend of little faith, Good was my death, And good my day Of rest, and good the sleep I took”?

“That which hath been is named already, and it is known that it is Man.”

“Eye hath not seen”:—yet man hath known and weighed A hundred thousand marvels that have been: What is it which (the Word of Truth hath said) Eye hath not seen?

“Ear hath not heard:”—yet harpings of delight, Trumpets of triumph, song and spoken word, Man knows them all: what lovelier, loftier might Hath ear not heard?

“Nor heart conceived:”—yet man hath now desired Beyond all reach, beyond his hope believed, Loved beyond death: what fire shall yet be fired No heart conceived?

“Deep calls to deep:”—man’s depth would be despair But for God’s deeper depth: we sow to reap, Have patience, wait, betake ourselves to prayer: Deep answereth deep.

Of each sad word which is more sorrowful, “Sorrow” or “Disappointment”? I have heard Subtle inflections baffling subtlest rule, Of each sad word.

Sorrow can mourn: and lo! a mourning bird Sings sweetly to sweet echoes of its dule, While silent disappointment broods unstirred.

Yet both nurse hope, where Penitence keeps school Who makes fools wise and saints of them that erred: Wise men shape stepping stone, or curb, or tool, Of each sad word.

“I see that all things come to an end.”