a white sunday.
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The multitude that John saw in white robes,
Singing the Heart Divine whose living drops
Had cleansed their stains, and warmed them into life,—
That multitude looked through my window-panes,
And with them I joined praises.
Singing the Heart Divine whose living drops
Had cleansed their stains, and warmed them into life,—
That multitude looked through my window-panes,
And with them I joined praises.
Friends devout,
Who listen to the sermon, swell the hymn,
Also the Lord accepts my offering.
To-day I worship in the apple-boughs,
With the great congregation of the flowers
That come up to their heights, as came the tribes
Of old unto Mount Zion, once a year;
A Passover of perfect, open praise.
Who listen to the sermon, swell the hymn,
Also the Lord accepts my offering.
To-day I worship in the apple-boughs,
With the great congregation of the flowers
That come up to their heights, as came the tribes
Of old unto Mount Zion, once a year;
A Passover of perfect, open praise.
The world we live in wholly is redeemed;
Not man alone, but all that man holds dear:
His orchards and his maize; forget-me-not
And heart's-ease in his garden; and the wild
Aerial blossoms of the untamed wood,
That make its savagery so home-like; all
Have felt Christ's sweet love watering their roots:
His sacrifice has won both earth and heaven.
Nature, in all its fulness, is the Lord's.
There are no Gentile oaks, no Pagan pines;
Not man alone, but all that man holds dear:
His orchards and his maize; forget-me-not
And heart's-ease in his garden; and the wild
Aerial blossoms of the untamed wood,
That make its savagery so home-like; all
Have felt Christ's sweet love watering their roots:
His sacrifice has won both earth and heaven.
Nature, in all its fulness, is the Lord's.
There are no Gentile oaks, no Pagan pines;
