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191. oldal - If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
191. oldal - But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest — if indeed I go — (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
40. oldal - Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry, Let not Thy blood on earth be spent ! Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie, Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bent, Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes Wait like the parched earth on April skies. Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, O let my heart no further roam, 'Tis Thine by vows and hopes and fears Long since — O call Thy wanderer home ; To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide.
191. oldal - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
191. oldal - The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
63. oldal - A servant with this clause makes drudgery divine; who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, makes that and the action fine.
191. oldal - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull...
54. oldal - I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro, Seeking for some great thing to do, Or secret thing to know ; I would be treated as a child, And guided where I go.
56. oldal - Wherever in the world I am, In whatsoe'er estate, I have a fellowship with hearts To keep and cultivate, And a work of lowly love to do, For the Lord on whom I wait...
20. oldal - SOURCE of my life's refreshing springs, Whose presence in my heart sustains me, Thy love appoints me pleasant things, Thy mercy orders all that pains me. If loving hearts were never lonely, If all they wish might always be, Accepting what they look for only, They might be glad, but not in thee.