O Word of God Incarnate

O Word of God Incarnate

by William How

O Word of God incarnate,

O Wisdom from on high,

O Truth unchanged, unchanging,

O Light of our dark sky!

We praise Thee for the radiance

That from the hallowed page,

A lamp to guide our footsteps,

Shines on from age to age.

The church from her dear Master

Received the gift divine,

And still that light she lifteth

O'er all the earth to shine.

It is the golden casket

Where gems of truth are stored;

It is the heaven-drawn picture

Of Christ the living Word.

The Earthen Vessel

The Earthen Vessel

The Master stood in His garden
Among the lilies fair,
Which His own right hand had planted
And trained with tenderest care.

He looked at their snowy blossoms.
And marked with observant eye
That His flowers were sadly drooping.
For their leaves were parched and dry.

"My lilies need to be watered,"
The heavenly Master said.
"Wherein shall I draw it for them.
And raise each drooping head?"

Close to His feet on the pathway.
Empty and frail and small.
An earthen vessel was lying.
Which seemed of no use at all.

But the Master saw and raised it
From the dust in which it lay,
And smiled as He gently whispered,
"This shall do my work to-day.

"It is but an earthen vessel.
But it lay so close to Me.
It is small, but it is empty.
Which is all it needs to be."

So to the fountain He took it.
And filled it to the brim.
How glad was the earthen vessel
To be of some use to Him!"

He poured forth the living water
Over the lilies fair,
Until the vessel was empty.
And again He filled it there.

He watered the drooping lilies
Until they revived again.
And the Master saw with pleasure
That His labor had not been vain.

His own hand had drawn the water
That refreshed the thirsty flowers,
But He used the earthen vessel
To carry the living showers.

And to itself it whispered
As He laid it aside once more,
"Still will I lie in His pathway
Just where I did before.

"Close would I keep to the Master,
Empty would I remain,
And perhaps some day He may use me
To water His flowers again."

Myself

Myself

What unto me is Nature after all?
I pass her by and softly go my way.
She is the remnant of my little day
Upon this beautiful revolving ball.

I am the real being. At my beck.
The seeming actual pays its vassalage;
I am the reader and the world the page;
I fling a halter round old matter's neck.

Glad to be taught of things outside, yet I
Find me indifferent to their transient
touch;
A life's to-day is an eternity
Seems not to please my spirit overmuch. 

I may not fathom now the end or what
The sweat and blood and tragedy may
mean;
But I can fight the fight and falter not.
Above the clouds the hilltops are serene.

So if I stay here years or slip away
While yet the early dawn is dim and dark,
It matters not. I am that living spark
That ever glows 'tho planets have their day