Poems (Shipton)/The Treasure House
THE TREASURE HOUSE.
"It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body."—1 Cor. xv. 44.
"Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory."—John xvii. 24.
Room for our treasure, closed Tomb!
Open thy doors, Grave!
Take all the angel Death can claim,
And all that thou canst have.
For Christ to thy dark gates went down,
And rent the vail in twain;
And gleams of glory, else unseen,
Point where He rose again.
Open thy doors, Grave!
Take all the angel Death can claim,
And all that thou canst have.
For Christ to thy dark gates went down,
And rent the vail in twain;
And gleams of glory, else unseen,
Point where He rose again.
Room for thy kindred dust, O Earth!
The casket of the soul;
Room for a little while, and then
Resign thy proud control.
Death! where is thy boasted power
That break's Life's three-fold cord,
When the freed spirit upward soars
To meet her risen Lord?
The casket of the soul;
Room for a little while, and then
Resign thy proud control.
Death! where is thy boasted power
That break's Life's three-fold cord,
When the freed spirit upward soars
To meet her risen Lord?
Take, then, the garment of our loved,
Still precious for her sake;
But glorious shall that garment be
When Christ shall bid her wake.
The faded form thou dost enfold,
On which we weeping gazed,
Shall lose each stain of Earth, and be
In incorruption raised.
Still precious for her sake;
But glorious shall that garment be
When Christ shall bid her wake.
The faded form thou dost enfold,
On which we weeping gazed,
Shall lose each stain of Earth, and be
In incorruption raised.