LV THE SECOND DAY OF CREATION HIS world I deem TH But a beautiful dream Of shadows that are not what they seem, Where visions rise, Giving dim surmise Of the things that shall meet our waking eyes. Arm of the Lord! Creating Word! Whose glory the silent skies record In scrolls of flame On the firmament's high-shadowing frame. I gaze o'erhead, Where Thy hand hath spread For the waters of Heaven that crystal bed, And stored the dew In its deeps of blue, Which the fires of the sun come tempered through. Soft they shine Through that pure shrine, As beneath the veil of Thy flesh divine, Beams forth the light That were else too bright For the feebleness of a sinner's sight. Where time and space are the warp and woof, Which the King of kings As a curtain flings O'er the dreadfulness of eternal things, — A tapestried tent To shade us meant From the bare everlasting firmament; Where the blaze of the skies Comes soft to our eyes Through a veil of mystical imageries. But could I see As in truth they be, The glories of Heaven that encompass me, The tissued fold Of that marvellous curtain of blue and gold. Soon the whole Like a parched scroll And without a screen At one burst be seen The Presence wherein I have ever been. O! who shall bear The blinding glare Of the Majesty that shall meet us there? On the unveiled blaze Of the light-girdled throne of the Ancient of days? Christ us aid! Himself be our shade, That in that dread day we be not dismayed. T. Whytehead LVI THE THIRD DAY OF CREATION HOU spakest, and the waters rolled Hot on the earth away, They fled, by Thy strong voice controlled, And freshly risen from out the deep As when in after time the earth Again Thou spakest, Lord of power, Like souls, wherein the hidden strength When, robed in holiness, they tell Lord, o'er the waters of my soul The word of peace be said; Its thoughts and passions bid Thou roll For, restless as the moaning sea, But swayed by Thee, 't is like the river The blessedness of such sweet thrall. Then in my heart, Spirit of might, And bid a spring-tide, calm and bright, Of holiness begin: So let it lie with Heaven's grace Full shining on its quiet face, Like the young earth in peace profound, Amid the assuagèd waters round. T. Whytehead LVII THE SEVENTH DAY OF CREATION ABBATH of the saints of old, SABBATH of the saintis of d By the great Creator blest, I with thoughts of thee would seek Resting from His work, the Lord Gave to heaven and earth the sign Resting from His work to-day, His sacred form from head to feet Swathed in the winding-sheet, Lying in the rock alone, Hid beneath the sealèd stone. All the seventh day long I ween Where her buried Lord was laid. |