Lyrics of the Living Church: Original Poems Compiled from "The Living Church"

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A.C. McClurg, 1891 - Religious poetry, American - 275 pages
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Page 155 - Tis the Master who holds the chisel; He knows just where Its edge should be driven sharpest, To fashion there The semblance that He is carving ; Nor will He let One delicate stroke too many, Or few, be set On forehead, or cheek, where only He sees how all Is tending, and where the hardest The blow should fall. Which crumbles away whatever Superfluous line Would hinder His hand from making The work divine.
Page 41 - THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN. COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN, IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY. DORMI, Jesu ! Mater ridet Quae tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu ! blandule ! Si non dormis, Mater plorat, Inter fila cantans orat, Blande, veni, somnule.
Page 150 - So whether on the hilltops high and fair I dwell, or in the sunless valleys, where The shadows lie — what matter? He is there. And more than this ; where'er the pathway lead He gives me no helpless, broken reed.
Page 81 - Son conceived. 3 Though He take our nature Linked to low estate, Though He stoop to suffer, Yet shall He be great ; Though His crown and sceptre Be of thorn and reed, His shall be the kingdom Sworn to David's Seed. 4 Light to light the Gentiles Bending at His throne ; Glory of His people, When His sway they own...
Page 155 - His skilful cutting, He means shall be Wrought silently out to beauty Of such degree Of faultless and full perfection, That angel eyes Shall look on the finished labor With new surprise, That even His boundless patience Could grave His own Features upon such fractured And stubborn stone.
Page 150 - Not always ; sometimes He, Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me In weary ways, where heavy shadows be ; Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright, Out of the sunshine into darkest night...
Page 150 - still waters ? " No, not always so ; Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me blow, And o'er my soul the waves and billows go. But when the storm beats loudest, and I cry Aloud for help, the Master standeth by, And whispers to my soul,

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