Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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FROM THE GOSPEL. |
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24
FROM THE GOSPEL.
“If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?”
I
Art thou still on Earth a rover?Shar'st thou still some mortal home,
Though life's task hath long been over,
Tarrying till thy Lord shall come?
Still unchanged in human beauty,
Breathing still our human breath,
Stedfast still at all Earth's duty,
Only free from pain and death?
II
Thou whom once the Lord of gloryChose his earthly friend to be—
Meekest saint of Christian story,
Gentle child of Zebedee—
Still do Earth's gross fetters bind thee?
Is thy rest not yet begun?
Where, O where, may Christians find thee?
In what land beneath the sun?
III
Art thou still, unheeded, roamingOn the Galilean shore,
Where Gennesareth's waves are foaming,
Which thy bark so often bore?
Dost thou still delight to wander
Through the paths thy Saviour trod;
Where with thee he loved to ponder
On the ways and works of God?
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IV
In the city sad and saintly,—On the Temple's blasted site,—
When the stars are burning faintly,
Dost thou oft outwatch the night?
How must Salem's ruins move thee!—
All is changed on Zion's hill;
Heaven alone is bright above thee,
And its fires unfaded still.
V
Or, in Patmos isle secluded,View'st thou, with prophetic eye,
Things whereinto ne'er intruded
Holiest angel known on high?
Swiftly now the days are waning
Which thy mystic lips foretold;
Soon thy Lord, in glory reigning,
Shall thy weary eyes behold.
VI
Hath our own bright isle beheld thee,Shrouded in some garb obscure?
Have we from our doors repell'd thee,
For that thou wast old and poor?
Faint, perchance, and worn and weary,
Toiling on from clime to clime—
Still thou view'st one prospect dreary,—
Waning faith and waxing crime.
VII
Sick, perchance, in heart and spiritAt the ceaseless strife and change
Which Earth's ancient realms inherit—
Westward thou hast turn'd to range.
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Where our race is in its youth—
Tell us if, e'en there, thou findest
Holier love or purer truth?
VIII
Doth thy bark, with gentlest motion,Where the smooth Pacific smiles,
Bear thee o'er the breast of ocean,
Visiting its myriad isles?
There, in joy and triumph sailing,
Dost thou pass from shore to shore,
Where young faith is yet prevailing,
Where false gods are found no more?
IX
Idle dreams! though passing pleasantTo the fond and foolish heart,
Which on Earth would deem thee present,
Though in heavenly bliss thou art.
He who here vouchsafed to love thee,
He who held thee on his breast,
Breathes eternal peace above thee,
In the chambers of his rest.
X
Dreamy sounds, from earth ascending,Tell thee of our strife below;
How the Church is still contending
With unvanquish'd sin and woe.
Heaven's remotest depths must hide thee,
Till her victory be won;—
There may we repose beside thee,
When our earthly toils are done!
| Poems | |