LOVE
If suddenly upon the street
My gracious Saviour I should meet,
And he should say, "As I love thee,
What love hast thou to offer me?"
Then what could this poor heart of mine
Dare offer to that heart divine?
His eye would pierce my outward show,
His thought my inmost thought would know;
And if I said, "I love thee, Lord,"
He would not heed my spoken word,
Because my daily life would tell
If verily I loved him well.
If on the day or in the place
Wherein he met me face to face
My life could show some kindness done,
Some purpose formed, some work begun,
For his dear sake, then, it were meet
Love's gift to lay at Jesus' feet.
—Charles Francis Richardson.
———
THE COMMON OFFERING
It is not the deed we do—
Tho' the deed be never so fair—
But the love that the dear Lord looketh for
Hidden with holy care
In the heart of the deed so fair.
The love is the priceless thing,
The treasure our treasure must hold
Or ever our Lord will take the gift,
Or tell the worth of the gold
By the love that cannot be told.
Behold us—the rich and the poor—
Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;
One consecrateth a precious coin,
One droppeth only a tear;
Look, Master, the love is here!
—Harriet McEwen Kimball.
———
True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,
For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;
Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tears
Shall wash thy love, and it will live again.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
———
EXPECTING AND KNOWING
Faith, Hope and Love were questioned what they thought
Of future glory which religion taught;
Now Faith believed it to be firmly true,
And Hope expected so to find it too;
Love answered, smiling with unconscious glow,
"Believe? expect? I know it to be so."
—John Wesley.
———
THE LOVE OF GOD
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
Were the whole world of parchment made,
Were every single stick a quill,
Were every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God alone
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky.
———
THE KINGDOM OF GOD
I say to thee—do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet
In lane, highway, or open street—
That he, and we, and all men move
Under a canopy of love
As broad as the blue sky above;
That doubt and trouble, fear and pain
And anguish, all are shadows vain;
That death itself shall not remain;
That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Through dark ways under ground be led,
Yet, if we will our Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way,
Shall issue out in heavenly day,
And we, on divers shores now cast,
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
All in our Father's house at last.
And, ere thou leave him, say thou this
Yet one word more: They only miss
The winning of that final bliss
Who will not count it true that love,
Blessing, not cursing, rules above,
And that in it we live and move.
And one thing further make him know:
That to believe these things are so,
This firm faith never to forego,
Despite of all that seems at strife
With blessing, all with curses rife,
That this is blessing, this is life.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.
———
GOD'S ALL-EMBRACING LOVE
Thou grace divine, encircling all,
A soundless, shoreless sea
Wherein at last our souls shall fall;
O love of God most free,
When over dizzy steeps we go
One soft hand blinds our eyes,
The other leads us, safe and slow,
O love of God, most wise!
And though we turn us from thy face,
And wander wide and long,
Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,
O love of God most strong!
The saddened heart, the restless soul,
The toil-worn frame and mind,
Alike confess thy sweet control,
O love of God most kind!
But not alone thy care we claim
Our wayward steps to win;
We know thee by a dearer name,
O love of God, within!
And filled and quickened by thy breath
Our souls are strong and free
To rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,
O love of God, to thee!
—Eliza Scudder.
———
Ah, how skillful grows the hand
That obeyeth Love's command!
It is the heart, and not the brain,
That to the highest doth attain,
And he who followeth Love's behest
Far excelleth all the rest.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
If I truly love the One
All the loves are mine;
Alien to my heart is none
And life grows divine.
———
GOD'S MERCY
There's a wideness in God's mercy
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in his justice
Which is more than liberty.
There is welcome for the sinner,
And more graces for the good;
There is mercy with the Saviour;
There is healing in his blood.
There is no place where earth's sorrows
Are more felt than up in heaven;
There is no place where earth's failings
Have such kindly judgment given.
There is plentiful redemption
In the blood that has been shed;
There is joy for all the members
In the sorrows of the Head.
For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of man's mind,
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
If our love were but more simple,
We should take him at his word,
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
THE LOVE THAT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE
Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art,
That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest;
Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,
And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.
It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;
I know the voice that speaks the "It is I."
And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer
I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.
Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross;
Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;
All meaner love is perishable dross,
But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.
It blesses now, and shall forever bless;
It saves me now, and shall forever save;
It holds me up in days of helplessness,
It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.
Girt with the love of God on every side,
Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air,
I work or wait, still following my Guide,
Braving each foe, escaping every snare.
'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God,
That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song;
Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod,
Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.
I am all want and hunger; this faint heart
Pines for a fullness which it finds not here,
Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart,
Make room within for something yet more dear.
More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hour
More of thy glory, O my God and Lord!
More of thyself in all thy grace and power
More of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.
———
Love that asketh love again
Finds the barter naught but pain;
Love that giveth in full store,
Aye receives as much, and more.
Love, exacting nothing back,
Never knoweth any lack;
Love, compelling love to pay,
Sees him bankrupt every day.
—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.
———
Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint
And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
HIS BANNER OVER ME
Surrounded by unnumbered foes,
Against my soul the battle goes!
Yet, though I weary, sore distrest,
I know that I shall reach my rest.
I lift my tearful eyes above;
His banner over me is love.
Its sword my spirit will not yield,
Though flesh may faint upon the field;
He waves before my fading sight
The branch of palm—the crown of light;
I lift my brightening eyes above,
His banner over me is love.
My cloud of battle-dust may dim,
His veil of splendor curtain him,
And in the midnight of my fear
I may not feel him standing near;
But, as I lift mine eyes above,
His banner over me is love.
—Gerald Massey.
———
THE SPILT PEARLS
His courtiers of the caliph crave:
"O say how this may be,
That of thy slaves this Ethiop slave
Is best beloved by thee?
"For he is hideous as the night:
Yet when has ever chose
A nightingale for its delight
A hueless, scentless rose?"
The caliph then: "No features fair,
No comely mien are his;
Love is the beauty he doth wear;
And love his glory is.
"Once when a camel of my train
There fell, in narrow street,
From broken casket rolled amain
Rich pearls before my feet.
"I nodding to my slaves that I
Would freely give them these,
At once upon the spoil they fly
The costly boon to seize.
"One only at my side remained—
Beside this Ethiop none;
He, moveless as the steed he reined,
Behind me sat alone.
"'What will thy gain, good fellow, be,
Thus lingering at my side?'
'My king, that I shall faithfully
Have guarded thee,' he cried.
"True servant's title he may wear,
He only, who has not,
For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,
His lord himself forgot!"
So thou alone dost walk before
Thy God with perfect aim,
From him desiring nothing more
Beside himself to claim.
For if thou not to him aspire,
But to his gifts alone,
Not love, but covetous desire,
Has brought thee to his throne.
While such thy prayer; it climbs above
In vain—the golden key
Of God's rich treasure-house of love
Thine own will never be.
—Saadi, tr. by Richard Chenevix Trench.
———
THE HIGHER PRIVILEGE
For some the narrow lane of "must,"
Be mine the big, broad "may";
Better to love—be happy—trust,
Than simply to obey.
O troubled over many things,
Choose thou the better part;
Service unconscious of itself,
And childlikeness of heart.
Why cast your burden on the Lord
And strive to drag it, too?
Call work an opportunity
Till it grows joy to you.
"Ought" is a servant's work, not mine;
I sign no grudging pledge;
I am a child and son; my toil
Is only privilege.
Who'd be a thrall to vain debates
Of "were this right or wrong,"
When he might toss these cares to God
And catch instead a song!
Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere,
Forgetful we can fly,
When the high zenith, "God is Love,"
Allures us to the sky?
The virtues hide their vanquished fires
Within that whiter flame,
Till conscience grows irrelevant,
And duty but a name!
—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.
———
THE WIDOW'S OIL
2 Kings 4. 1-6
Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,
It will not fail until
Thou failest vessels to provide
Which it may freely fill.
But then, when such are found no more,
Though flowing broad and free
Till then, and nourished from on high,
It straightway stanched will be.
Dig channels for the streams of love,
Where they may broadly run;
And love has overflowing streams
To fill them every one.
But if at any time thou cease
Such channels to provide,
The very founts of love for thee
Will soon be parched and dried.
For we must share, if we would keep,
That good thing from above;
Ceasing to give, we cease to have;
Such is the law of love.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.
———
ONLY LOVE
Lord and Father, great and holy!
Fearing naught, we come to thee;
Fearing naught, though weak and lowly,
For thy love has made us free.
By the blue sky bending o'er us,
By the green earth's flowery zone,
Teach us, Lord, the angel chorus,
"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"
Though the worlds in flame should perish,
Suns and stars in ruin fall,
Trust in thee our hearts should cherish,
Thou to us be all in all.
And though heavens thy name are praising,
Seraphs hymn no sweeter tone
Than the strains our hearts are raising,
"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"
—Frederic William Farrar.
———
That love for one from which there doth not spring
Wide love for all is but a worthless thing.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
JOHN AND JESUS
A voice by Jordan's shore!
A summons stern and clear:
Reform! be just! and sin no more!
God's judgment draweth near!
A voice by Galilee,
A holier voice I hear;
Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see,
God's mercy draweth near!
O voice of Duty, still
Speak forth; I hear with awe.
In thee I own the sovereign will,
Obey the sovereign law.
Thou higher voice of Love!
Yet speak thy word in me;
Through Duty let me upward move
To thy pure liberty!
—Samuel Longfellow.
———
WHAT REDRESS?
I pray you, do not use this thing
For vengeance; but if questioning
What wound, when dealt your humankind,
Goes deepest—surely he shall find
Who wrongs you, loving him no less—
There's nothing hurts like tenderness.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
———
FORGIVENESS
When on the fragrant sandal-tree
The woodman's axe descends,
And she who bloomed so beauteously
Beneath the keen stroke bends,
E'en on the edge that wrought her death
Dying she breathed her sweetest breath,
As if to token, in her fall,
Peace to her foes, and love to all.
How hardly man this lesson learns,
To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;
To see the blow, to feel the pain,
But render only love again!
This spirit not to earth is given—
One had it, but he came from heaven.
Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,
No curse he breathed, no plaint he made,
But when in death's deep pang he sighed
Prayed for his murderers, and died.
———
LOVE COUNTETH NOT THE COST
There is an ancient story, simply told,
As ever were the holy things of old,
Of one who served through many a toiling year
To earn at last the joy he held most dear;
A weary term, to others strangely lost.
What mattered it? Love counteth not the cost.
Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skies
The faithful life hath, patient, won its prize;
Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swell
The soul, some Rachel waits beside the well;
For her the load is borne, the desert crossed.
What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.
This then of man—and what, dear Lord, of thee,
Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane—
Come from those regions infinite with peace,
To buy with such a price the world's release?
Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed,
"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."
O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who stand
Beneath the pressure of thy gracious hand—
What is the service thou wouldst have from me?
What is the burden to be borne for thee?
I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust,
"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."
———
LOVE OF HOME
Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
And gives the battle to his hands.
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
And strikes him dead for thine and thee.
—Alfred Tennyson.
———
BE KIND TO THYSELF
Comes a message from above—
"As thyself thy neighbor love."
With myself so vexed I grow—
Of my weakness weary so;
Easier may I tolerate
My neighbor than myself not hate.
Take not part of thee for whole;
Thou art neighbor to thy soul;
The ray from heaven that gilds the clod
Love thou, for it comes from God.
Bear thou with thy human clay,
Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.
—Edward Sandford Martin.
———
LOVE AND LIGHT
Through love to light! oh wonderful the way
That leads from darkness to the perfect day!
From darkness and from sorrow of the night
To morning that comes singing o'er the sea,
Through love to light! Through light, O God, to thee,
Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light.
—Richard Watson Gilder.
———
SYMPATHETIC LOVE
O Love divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear!
On thee we cast each earthborn care;
We smile at pain while thou art near.
Though long the weary way we tread,
And sorrow crown each lingering year,
No path we shun, no darkness dread,
Our hearts still whispering, "Thou art near!"
When drooping pleasure turns to grief
And trembling faith is changed to fear,
The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,
Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near!"
On thee we fling our burdening woe,
O Love divine, forever dear;
Content to suffer while we know,
Living and dying, thou art near!
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
———
Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
—Alfred Tennyson.
———
For, lo! in hidden deep accord
The servant may be like his Lord.
And thy love, our love shining through,
May tell the world that thou art true,
Till those who see us see thee too.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
———
Who loves, no law can ever bind;
He'd cleave to God as well
Were there no golden heaven's reward,
And no dark cave of hell.
—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
———
To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win?
Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.
———
For others' sake to make life sweet
Though thorns may pierce your weary feet;
For others' sake to walk each day
As if joy helped you all the way,
While in the heart may be a grave
That makes it hard to be so brave.
Herein, I think, is love.
———
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
Ah, yes! I would a phœnix be,
And burn my heart in Deity!
Then I should dwell by his dear side,
And in the self of God abide.
—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
———
The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe:
Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.