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THE DWELLING OF THE LORD

“They said unto Him, Master, where dwellest Thou? He saith unto them, Come and see.”—John i. 38, 39.

13

C. P. C.

tr., Emma Frances Bevan, 1899

Now—borne upon the still, the boundless deep,

By tempest never stirred,

The peaceful sea where song and minstrelsy

From shores that in the golden morning sleep

Alone are heard.

Now—hidden in His secret place, afar

Within the sheltering Home—

Apart as in the glory of a star

Where all the strifes that madden and that mar

May never come.

Now—o’er the dark and solitary ways

Borne onward on His breast,

Through windings of the strange and tangled maze,

Through weary nights, and through the changing days,

At rest—at rest.

Now—lips unskilful fain would tell the bliss

The heart in secret shares—

The meeting, and the welcome, and the kiss,

The blessed marvels and the mysteries

His love prepares.

Now—holy cloisters closed to strife and sin

Where Angels walk in white—

And blessed saints adoring enter in,

Their everlasting anthems to begin

In songs of night.

Now—O Beloved Lord, Thy risen ones,

In peace we walk with Thee;

Beyond the graves we dwell, beyond the suns;

Beside the fountain whence the River runs

At last to be!

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