| Finding the Way |
Chapter 4 |
Page 6 |
It is not easy to maintain the Sabbath peace in the midst of the strifes and competitions of the weekday life. It is not easy to take the blissful raptures of the Holy Communion out into the chill air of the streets, or to keep the glowing emotions of the hour of sacred prayer amid the influences of the shop or the factory. The messengers of heaven are shy and easily driven away, and we need to take most sedulous care lest they fly away and leave us.
“Out of the deeps of heaven
A bird has flown to my door,
As twice in the ripening summers
Its mates have flown before.
“Why it has flown to my dwelling,
Nor it nor I may know,
And only the silent angels
Can tell me when it shall go.
“That it will not straightway vanish,
But fold its wings with me,
And sing in the greenest branches
Till the axe is laid to the tree,
“Is the prayer of my love and terror;
For my soul is sore distress,
Lest I wake some dreadful morning,
And find but its empty nest.”
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