Poetry Saturday—Saint Paul

F.W.H. MyersOh, could I tell, ye surely would believe it!
   Oh, could I only say what I have seen!
How should I tell, or how can ye receive it,
   How, till He bringeth you where I have been?

Therefore, O Lord, I will not fail nor falter;
   Nay but I ask it, nay but I desire,
Lay on my lips thine embers of the altar,
   Seal with the ring, and furnish with the fire.

Give me a voice, a cry, and a complaining,—
   Oh, let my sound be stormy in their ears!
Throat that would shout, but cannot stay for straining,
   Eyes that would weep, but cannot wait for tears.

Quick, in a moment, infinite forever,
   Send an arousal better than I pray;
Give me a grace upon the faint endeavor,
   Souls for my hire, and Pentecost today!

Scarcely I catch the words of His revealing,
   Hardly I hear Him, dimly understand;
Only the Power that is within me pealing
   Lives on my lips, and beckons with my hand.

Whoso has felt the Spirit of the Highest,
   Cannot confound, nor doubt Him, nor deny;
Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest,
   Stand thou on that side, for on this am I. —F.W.H. Myers

 

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