Rough Rhymes of a Padre, Volume 1

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Hodder and Stoughton, 1918 - English poetry - 96 pages
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Page 68 - Bread of Thy Body give me for my fighting, Give me to drink Thy Sacred Blood for Wine, While there are wrongs that need me for the righting, ; While there is warfare splendid and divine.
Page 75 - We stood up to give the Blessing, And commend him to the Lord, When a sudden light shot soaring Silver swift and like a sword. At a stroke it slew the darkness, Flashed its glory on the mud, And I saw the sergeant staring At a crimson clot of blood. There are many kinds of sorrow In this world of Love and Hate, But there is no sterner sorrow Than a soldier's for his mate.
Page 67 - Peace does not mean the end of all our striving, Joy does not mean the drying of our tears ; Peace is the power that comes to souls arriving Up to the light where God Himself appears.
Page 74 - Reft of common Christian prayer. So I crawled round on my belly, And I listened to the roar Of the guns that hammered Thiepval, Like big breakers on the shore. Then there spoke a dripping sergeant, When the time was growing late, 'Would you please to bury this one, 'Cause 'e used to be my mate?' So we groped our way in darkness To a body lying there, Just a blacker lump of blackness, With a red blotch on his hair. Though we turned him gently over, Yet I still can hear the thud, As the body fell face...
Page 65 - How can it be that God can reign in glory, Calmly content with what His love has done, Reading unmoved the piteous, shameful story, All the vile deeds men do beneath the sun ? Are there no tears in the heart of the Eternal ? Is there no pain to pierce the soul of God ? Then must He be a fiend of Hell infernal, Beating the earth to pieces with His rod.
Page 46 - A MOTHER UNDERSTANDS DEAR Lord, I hold my hand to take Thy Body, broken once for me, Accept the Sacrifice I make, My Body, broken, Christ, for Thee. His was my body, born of me, Born of my bitter travail pain, And it lies broken on the field, Swept by the wind and the rain. Surely a Mother understands Thy thorn-crowned head, The mystery of Thy pierced hands — the Broken Bread.
Page 30 - is very birth, For part ov 'im comes from 'eaven, And part ov 'im comes from earth. There's nothing in man that's perfect, And nothing that's all complete; E's nubbat a big beginning, From 'is 'ead to the soles of 'is feet. There's summat as draws 'im uppards, And summat as drags 'im down, And the consekence is, 'e wobbles, 'Twixt muck and a golden crown.
Page 66 - Red with His blood the better day is dawning, Pierced by His pain the storm-clouds roll apart, Rings o'er the earth the message of the morning, Still on the Cross the Saviour bares His heart. Passionately fierce the voice of God is pleading, Pleading with men to arm them for the fight, See how those hands, majestically bleeding, Call us to rout the armies of the night.
Page 16 - Judgment books, I seemed to stand alone. I seemed to stand alone beside a solemn sounding sea, While at my feet upon the shore broke waves of memory.
Page 53 - ... Who learned, through tears and bloody sweat, To count this world but loss; Who left the Virgin Mother's arms To seek those arms of shame, Outstretched upon the lonely hill To which the darkness came. As deed by deed, and tear by tear, He climbed up to the height, Each deed a splendid deed, each tear A jewel shining bright, So grant us, Lord, the patient heart, To climb the upward way, Until we stand upon the height, And see the perfect day.

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