also known as: John Oxenham
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We thank Thee, Lord,
With hearts responsive
We thank Thee, Lord,
(TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN)
Britain! Our Britain! uprisen in the splendour
Lord, when Thou seest that my work is done,
Is the pathway dark and dreary?
Curly head, and laughing eyes,--
Soul, dost thou fear
I have been tried,
Better in bitterest agony to lie,
Though the times be dark and dreary,
You that still have your sight,
Each sin has its door of entrance.
I hear a clear voice calling, calling,
Burden-bearers are we all,
Christ stands at the bar of the world to-day,
Our Boys Who Have Gone to the Front
"Comfort ye, my people!"
Not what, but WHOM, I do believe,
Oft, as he jogs along the Winding-Way,
For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
There is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord,
(As earnestly as any I crave the victory of Right over this madness of Insensate Might against which we are contending. As certainly as any I would, if that were conceivably possible, have adequate punishment meted out to those who have brought th
Just do your best,
Bright stars of Faith and Hope, her eyes
The sun shone white and fair,
Evening brings us home,--
Lord, give me faith!--to live from day to day,
Flora, with wondrous feathers in her hat,
The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small--
Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty hand
Free men of God, the New Day breaks
Let no man stand between my God and me!
Rabbi, begone! Thy powers
Though every nerve be strained
I faced a future all unknown,
He writes in characters too grand
They died that we might live,--
O Exiled Hearts--for you, for you--
Our feet have wandered, wandered far and wide,--
Where are all the young men?
Some lives are set in narrow ways,
Better than I,
A land of lights and shadows intervolved,
Is life worth living?
Every day is Judgment Day,
The nations are in the proving;
Where the great green combers break in thunder on the barrier reefs,--
Mr. F.W. Christian, of the Polynesian Society of New Zealand, whose personal acquaintance with the South Sea Islands and their dialects is unique, is translating "Kapiolani" into Rarotongan. He writes--
Winter hung about the ways,
O God, within whose sight
"'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nights and Days,
To lift the sombre fringes of the Night,
With a will!
"My heart to-day
Art thou lonely, O my brother?
Lord, save their souls alive!
Each man is Captain of his Soul,
Fold up the tent!
In Christ there is no East or West,
Where one is,
An inconclusive peace!--
By the grace of God and the courage
And we ourselves? Are our hands clean?
Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,
"See this my garden,
Is there, in you or me,
"Shall it be Peace?
I stood, unseen, within a sumptous room,
O Thou who standest both for God and Man,
Earthly props are useless,
I saw one hanging on a tree,
From deepest depth, O Lord, I cry to Thee.
Singing, she washed
"My lord, there came unto the gate
Just see that we get full value
Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the sea!
What shall we be like when
Shadows are but for the moment--
To us it seemed his life was too soon done,
(For the Braille Magazine)
Some have much, and some have more,
Stephen, who died while I stood by consenting,
Great-Heart is dead, they say,--
We thank Thee, O our God, for this
The spikenard was not wasted;--
With the thirty pieces of silver,
(Cradle Song from "The Long Road.")
When the Bells of Ys rang softly,--softly,
On Christmas Day The Child was born,
The good intent of God became the Christ.
When, with bowed head,
()"In the evening I went for a walk to a village lately shelled by German heavy guns. Their effect was awful--ghastly. It was impossible to imagine the amount of damage done until one really saw it. The church was terrible too. The spire
Not for one single day
Wherever is an empty chair--
"A little child shall lead them."
Through every minute of this day,
The Golden Rose is blowing still,
The Greatest Day that ever dawned,--
Down to the sea, the hungry sea,
As It was in the Beginning,--
Time beats out all things with his iron flail,
A wonderful Way is The King's High Way;
Long the road,
Unnamed at times, at times unknown,
Hark! The drums! Muffled drums!
But once I pass this way,
A Potter, playing with his lump of clay,
O, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath tuned
God is a zealous pruner,
All through the blood-red Autumn,
Shapeless and grim,
How can the makers of unrighteous wars
He only sees both sides of that dark vail
Who are the Makers of Wars?
To every man there openeth
Lord, Thou hast stricken us, smitten us sore,
"A red rose for my helmet,
From North and South, and East and West,
Out of all the reek and turmoil
"Thy Will be done!"
And hast Thou help for such as me,
I know! I know!--
Lord Christ, let me but hold Thy hand
(THE PLEA OF THE MUNITION-WORKER)
This mortal dies,--
The wind blows shrill along the hill,
Think not of any one of them as wasted,
Watchman! What of the night?
We thank Thee, Lord,
Warp and Woof and Tangle,--
As gold is tried in the furnace,
Where are you sleeping to-night, My Lad,
Lord, when on my bed I lie,
Midway between the flaming lines he lay,
Unless our Souls win back to Thee,
Is your place a small place?