find a nearer place,
And teach me resting on my heart.
Had I the grace to win the grace
Of maiden living all above,
My soul would trample down the base,
That she might have a man to love.
A grace I had no grace to win
Knocks now at my half open door:
Ah, Lord of glory, come thou in!—
Thy grace divine is all, and more.
Antiphon
Daylight fades away.
Is the Lord at hand
In the shadows gray
Stealing on the land?
Gently from the east
Come the shadows gray;
But our lowly priest
Nearer is than they.
It is darkness quite.
Is the Lord at hand,
In the cloak of night
Stolen upon the land?
But I see no night,
For my Lord is here
With him dark is light,
With him far is near.
List! the cock’s awake.
Is the Lord at hand?
Cometh he to make
Light in all the land?
Long ago he made
Morning in my heart;
Long ago he bade
Shadowy things depart.
Lo, the dawning hill!
Is the Lord at hand,
Come to scatter ill,
Ruling in the land?
He hath scattered ill,
Ruling in my mind;
Growing to his will,
Freedom comes, I find.
We will watch all day,
Lest the Lord should come;
All night waking stay
In the darkness dumb.
I will work all day,
For the Lord hath come;
Down my head will lay
All night, glad and dumb.
For we know not when
Christ may be at hand;
But we know that then
Joy is in the land.
For I know that where
Christ hath come again,
Quietness without care
Dwelleth in his men.
Dorcas
If I might guess, then guess I would
That, mid the gathered folk,
This gentle Dorcas one day stood,
And heard when Jesus spoke.
She saw the woven seamless coat—
Half envious, for his sake:
“Oh, happy hands,” she said, “that wrought
The honoured thing to make!”
Her eyes with longing tears grow dim:
She never can come nigh
To work one service poor for him
For whom she glad would die!
But, hark, he speaks! Oh, precious word!
And she has heard indeed!
“When did we see thee naked, Lord,
And clothed thee in thy need?”
“The King shall answer, Inasmuch
As to my brethren ye
Did it—even to the least of such—
Ye did it unto me.”
Home, home she went, and plied the loom,
And Jesus’ poor arrayed.
She died—they wept about the room,
And showed the coats she made.
Marriage Song
“They have no more wine!” she said.
But they had enough of bread;
And the vessels by the door
Held for thirst a plenteous store:
Yes, enough; but Love divine
Turned the water into wine!
When should wine like water flow,
But when home two glad hearts go!
When, in sacred bondage bound,
Soul in soul hath freedom found!
Such the time when, holy sign,
Jesus turned the water wine.
Good is all the feasting then;
Good the merry words of men;
Good the laughter and the smiles;
Good the wine that grief beguiles;—
Crowning good, the Word divine
Turning water into wine!
Friends, the Master with you dwell!
Daily work this miracle!
When fair things too common grow,
Bring again their heavenly show!
Ever at your table dine,
Turning water into wine!
So at last you shall descry
All the patterns of the sky:
Earth a heaven of short abode;
Houses temples unto God;
Water-pots, to vision fine,
Brimming full of heavenly wine.
Blind Bartimeus
As Jesus went into Jericho town,
’Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
About blind Bartimeus.
He said, “My eyes are more than dim,
They are no use for seeing him:
No matter—he can see us!”
“Cry out, cry out, blind brother—cry;
Let not salvation dear go by.—
Have mercy, Son of David.”
Though they were blind, they both could hear—
They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
And so the blind were saved.
O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
Nothing comes through into my mind;
’Tis well I am not dumb:
Although I see thee not, nor hear,
I cry because thou may’st be near:
O son of Mary, come!
I hear it through the all things blind:
Is it thy voice, so gentle and kind—
“Poor eyes, no more be dim”?
A hand is laid upon mine eyes;
I hear, and hearken, see, and rise;—
’Tis He! I follow him!
Come Unto Me
Come unto me, the Master says:—
But how? I am not good;
No thankful song my heart will raise,
Nor even wish it could.
I am not sorry for the past,
Nor able not to sin;
The weary strife would ever last
If once I should begin!
Hast thou no burden then to bear?
No action to repent?
Is all around so very fair?
Is thy heart quite content?
Hast thou no sickness in thy soul?
No labour to endure?
Then go in peace, for thou art whole;
Thou needest not his cure.
Ah, mock me not! I often sigh;
I have a nameless grief,
A faint sad pain—but such that I
Can look for no relief.
Come, come to him who made thy heart;
Come weary and oppressed;
To come to Jesus is thy part,
His part to give thee rest.
New grief, new hope he will bestow,
Thy grief and pain to quell;
Into thy heart himself will go,
And that will make thee well.
Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit
For Theirs Is the Kingdom of Heaven
Our Father, hear our longing prayer,
And help this prayer to flow,
That humble thoughts, which are thy care,
May live in us, and grow.
For lowly hearts shall understand
The peace, the calm delight
Of dwelling in thy heavenly land,
A pleasure in thy sight.
Give us humility, that so
Thy reign may come within,
And when thy children homeward go,
We too may enter in.
Hear us, our Saviour: ours thou art,
Though we are not like thee;
Give us thy spirit in our heart,
Large, lowly, trusting, free.
Blessed Are They That Mourn
For They Shall Be Comforted
Speak to our hearts, O Father! Say
What we have been to thee;
How we have wandered far away,
And hardly turned to see.
Then lifted hands will hide the face;
Then tears our grief will prove
That such hath been the Father’s
