The Measureless Gulfs Of Air Are Full Of Thee. (Hymn)

"In Him we live, and move, and have our being."

The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee:
    Thou Art, and therefore hang the stars; they wait,
And swim, and shine in God who bade them be,
    And hold their sundering voids inviolate.

A God concern'd (veil'd in pure light) to bless,
    With sweet revealing of His love, the soul;
Toward things piteous, full of piteousness;
    The Cause, the Life, and the continuing Whole.

He is more present to all things He made
    Than anything unto itself can be;
Full-foliaged boughs of Eden could not shade
    Afford, since God was also 'neath the tree.

Thou knowest me altogether; I knew not
    Thy likeness till Thou mad'st it manifest.
There is no world but is Thy heaven; no spot
    Remote; Creation leans upon Thy breast.

Thou art beyond all stars, yet in my heart
    Wonderful whisperings hold Thy creature dumb;
I need no search afar; to me Thou art
    Father, Redeemer, and Renewer - come.

Jean Ingelow

Jean Ingelow was an English poet and novelist known for her popular stories and poems in the 19th century. Her work, including 'Mopsa the Fairy', earned her recognition during her lifetime. She was also involved in the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Ingelow published several poetry collections, with her first in 1863, which was well-received and cemented her reputation as a poet.

Jean Ingelow

Songs On The Voices Of Birds. Introduction. Child And Boatman.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

Seven Times Five. Widowhood.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

At One Again.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

Song Of The Going Away.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

English

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Sweet Are His Ways Who Rules Above. (Hymn)

"Though I take the wings of the morning."

Sweet are His ways who rules above,
    He gives from wrath a sheltering place;
    But covert none is found from grace,
Man shall not hide himself from love.

What though I take to me the wide
    Wings of the morning and forth fly,
    Faster He goes, whoso care on high
Shepherds the stars and doth them guide.

What though the tents foregone, I roam
    Till day wax dim lamenting me;
    He wills that I shall sleep to see
The great gold stairs to His sweet home.

What though the press I pass before,
    And climb the branch, He lifts his face;
    I am not secret from His grace
Lost in the leafy sycamore.

What though denied with murmuring deep
    I shame my Lord, - it shal...

Jean Ingelow

Songs Of The Night Watches, - The Middle Watch.

I.

I woke in the night, and the darkness was heavy and deep:
I had known it was dark in my sleep,
    And I rose and looked out,
And the fathomless vault was all sparkling, set thick round about
With the ancient inhabiters silent, and wheeling too far
For man's heart, like a voyaging frigate, to sail, where remote
In the sheen of their glory they float,
Or man's soul, like a bird, to fly near, of their beams to partake,
    And dazed in their wake,
Drink day that is born of a star.
I murmured, "Remoteness and greatness, how deep you are set,
How afar in the rim of the whole;
You know nothing of me, nor of man, nor of earth, O, nor yet
Of our light-bearer, - drawing the marvellous moons as they roll,
    Of our regent, the sun."
I look on you trembling, a...

Jean Ingelow

Jesus, The Lamb Of God. (Hymn)

"Art Thou He that should come?"

Jesus, the Lamb of God, gone forth to heal and bless.
Calm lie the desert pools in a fair wilderness;
Wind-shaken moves the reed, so moves His voice the soul,
Sick folk surprised of joy, wax when they hear it, whole.

Calm all His mastering might, calm smiles the desert waste;
Peace, peace, He shall not cry, nay, He shall not make haste;
Heaven gazes, hell beneath moved for Him, moans and stirs -
Lo, John lies fast in prison, sick for his messengers.

John, the forerunner, John, the desert's tameless son,
Cast into loathèd thrall, his use and mission done;
John from his darkness sends a cry, but not a plea;
Not, "Hast Thou felt my need?" but only, "Art Thou He?"

Unspoken pines his hope, grown weak in lingering dole...

Jean Ingelow

Immortal Love, Forever Full

Immortal love, forever full,
Forever flowing free,
Forever shared, forever whole,
A never ebbing sea!

Our outward lips confess the name
All other names above;
Love only knoweth whence it came,
And comprehendeth love.

Blow, winds of God, awake and blow
The mists of earth away:
Shine out, O Light divine, and show
How wide and far we stray.

We may not climb the heavenly steeps
To bring the Lord Christ down;
In vain we search the lowest deeps,
For Him no depths can drown.

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet,
A present help is He;
And faith still has its Olivet,
And love its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress
Is by our beds of pain;
We touch Him in lifes throng and press,
And we are whole again...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Light.

First-born of the creating Voice!
Minister of God's spirit, who wast sent
To wait upon Him first, what time He went
Moving about 'mid the tumultuous noise
Of each unpiloted element
Upon the face of the void formless deep!
Thou who didst come unbodied and alone,
Ere yet the sun was set his rule to keep,
Or ever the moon shone,
Or e'er the wandering star-flocks forth were driven!
Thou garment of the Invisible, whose skirt
Falleth on all things from the lofty heaven!
Thou Comforter, be with me as thou wert
When first I longed for words, to be
A radiant garment for my thought, like thee.

We lay us down in sorrow,
Wrapt in the old mantle of our mother Night;
In vexing dreams we 'strive until the morrow;
Grief lifts our eyelids up--and lo, the light!...

George MacDonald

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - July.

        1.

        ALAS, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep!
        Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away.
        I sit alone, a sorrow half asleep,
        My consciousness the blackness all astir.
        No pilgrim I, a homeless wanderer--
        For how canst Thou be in the darkness deep,
        Who dwellest only in the living day?

        2.

        It must be, somewhere in my fluttering tent,
        Strange creatures, half tamed only yet, are pent--
        Dragons, lop-winged birds, and large-eyed snakes!
        Hark! through the storm the saddest howling breaks!
        Or are they loose, roaming about the bent,
        The darkness dire deepening with moan and scream?--
        My Morning, rise, and all shall be a dream....

George MacDonald