125
March 1932
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
d o n g s of t ong ) S PR IN G
Easter They said He was dead, when they pierced His side, Those soldiers of ancient Rome. They buried His body at eventide, And Caesar’s seal closed the tomb. The rabbis wise and the Pharisees grand Had at length achieved their will. The populace voiced their leaders’ demand, The law’s full measure to fill. But their righteous zeal was all in vain, ... For.His.spirit they could not bind; His glory emerged from the tomb again, ' And the graveclothes left behind. To the women who came, the angels spake, “He is not here,” they said, ‘Who gave His life for humanity’s sake Is risen from the dead.” So down through the ages, the Saviour lives - To cheer the discouraged soul, And to every spirit assurance gives, That the grave is not his goal. — R . K in a n .
Resurrection " If ye then be risen zvith Christ, seek.those things zvhich above” (Col. 3 :1). From the deep grave of sin and low desire, And from the grave of all that leads astray, From all of self—an ever-burning fire— Lord, raise us up this resurrection day. From all which is unseemly in Thine eyes, From thought, or word, or deed which is unkind, Though buried deep within, oh, bid us rise And leave the dead past of our lives behind. Dear Christ of God, whose bruised human form By seal and Roman guard could not be bound, Thyself impart, so potent, living, warm,' And bid us from sin’s graveclothes be unwound. O Lord of life and death, our eyes unclose; Our vision clear, that we Thy face may see: We would rise'unto Thee, and leave our woes With Thine, dear Master, on Mount Calvary. —J I n N ie W ilson -H owell .
are
A Transformed Garden . . . like the garden of the Lord”' (Isa. 51:3).
‘Waste places
The dismal ground, Dank, drear, fog-bound,
Lay bleak around the city, black with grime, Hideous with mud, and sordidry, and slime, “Does God enshrine His immanence in th i^ ^ Can Spirit claim these sooty fields as^His ?” Questioned my heart. Then, onfr surpnj morn, The veil was torn. I woke to silkjen sho^Sip, , And found ouy
rjt large”, ia lowers l
So unto me, Oh, mystery!
A vase of stone, Whose day is done,
. , . Shine through this useless thing of battered clay, And give it aught of beauty, so it may Thy wonder, Lord, display. Thus, with Thy Spirit rife, Each crack and crevice of this tawdry life Shall bloom and sparkle with a fragrant glow, And none shall heed the chips and stains below. So be it, Lord, to me!
Stands broken and despised, caked o’er with grime, With ugly, gaping cracks, dark-stained by time. Yet stay! God’s unseen finger stirs the mould! It draws a velvet line along the tracks And drapes a shimmering mantle o’er the cracks. While old wounds break in streams of greenrend gi
„ I —E dith M. D owson B ell .
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