love poetry

Father of heaven above,
Dwelling in light and love,
Ancient of days,
Light unapproachable,
Love inexpessible,
Thee, the Invisible,
Laud we and praise.

Christ, the eternal Word,
Christ, the incarnate Lord,
Saviour of all,
High throned above all height,
God of God, Light of light,
Increate, infinite,
On Thee we call.

O God, the Holy Ghost,
Whose fires of Pentecost
Burn evermore,
In this far wilderness
Leave us not comfortless:
Thee we love, Thee we bless,

O Light of Light, whose glory is to dwell,
Effulgent God, with God Invisible:

O Life of Life, whose fountain unexplored
Flows where archangel's wing hath never soar'd:

O Love of Love, whose uncreated rest
Is the fruition of Thy Father's breast:

O Light, whose Dayspring, dawning from on high,
Shone in Thy loved apostle's heart and eye:

O Life, whose quickening Spirit breathed the wor
Of heavenly wisdom in his accents heard:

O Love, whose bosom, in its woes serene,

I

H E seeks for ours as we do seek for His;
Nay, O my Soul, ours is far more His bliss
Than His is ours; at least it so doth seem
Both in His own and our esteem:

II

His earnest love, His infinite desires,
His living, endless, and devouring fires,
Do rage in thirst and fervently require
A love 'tis strange it should desire.

III

We cold and careless are, and scarcely think
Upon the glorious spring whereat we drink.

Dear is that picture for my childhood's sake, —
The man asleep, so near to love or harm;
The winged boy, that stays Armida's arm,
The siren-girl, all hush'd, lest he awake;
While, in the background of that pictured tale,
Sown with enchanted herbs, and clad with gloom,
A sombre eminence o'erlooks the vale,
A purple hill, where all my dreams found room:
'Tis strange, with how few touches of a brush,
That painter's hand supplied, in life's fresh dawn,
The mystic thoughts I loved! Sweet thoughts! deep-drawn,

When around the lovely Saviour,
Infants with affection prest,
Breathing out his words of favor,
Every sunny brow he blest;
Though the stern disciples chid them,
Babes and sucklings thus to come,
Jesus cried, do not forbid them,
Such compose my heavenly home.

Here within thy chosen dwelling,
Where thy cloud of glory stays,
All thy loving-kindness telling,
Children would attempt thy praise;
For the Gospel thou hast sent us,
Grateful tribute would we give,
For the teachers thou hast lent us,

Musidorus

Will you unto one single sense
Confine a starry Influence?
Or when you do the raies combine,
To themselves only make them shine?
Love that's engross'd by one alone,
Is envy, not affection

Orinda

No, Musidorus, this would be
But Friendship's prodigality;
Union in raies does not confine,
But doubles lustre when they shine,
And souls united live above
Envy, as much as scatter'd Love.

Do not linger, Death, for I am dying;
come, so I may live with you;
love me, because I love you,
for with your coming I hope
not to struggle with myself.

There is not, by any means,
a remedy to make life happy,
because my grave wound
has come from such a place
that only you can be my remedy.

Come, then, because I am dying;
look for me, because I follow you;
love me, because I love you,
and with your coming I hope
not to keep life in myself.


With a painful care,

A REJOINDER .

Hence! with your jeerings petulant and low;
My love of Home no circumstance can shake;
Too ductile for the change of place to break,
And far too passionate for thee to know;
I and yon sycamore have grown together,
How on yon slope the shifting sunsets lie,
None know like me and mine; and, tending hither,
Flows the strong current of my memory;
From that same flower-bed, ever dear to me,
I learn'd how marigolds do bloom and fade;
And from the grove, which skirts this garden-glade,

Old memories come trooping down
The vistas of the years;
In blue-girt robes of pleasure clad
Or garbed in tears.

Down from the days when hope was young
And sorrow never born,
My thoughts sweep o'er remembered scenes
Unto this morn.

Though motley company they are
Of smile or tear or frown,
They hold aloft the burnished gold
Of my heart's crown.

For through it all and over all
There gleams the light serene,
On purpled walls and crimson heights
In love's demesne.

Out of the silence
I come to you,
Bringing a love
Free as the dew.

I come and sing
A heart's great love,
And passion of soul
Pure as a dove.

But this I crave
As you pass by —
A smile on your lips,
A light in your eye.