 | Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems |  |
127
LAST WORDS.
“That is what I should like—serving continually. Oh, I trust
there will be work for me where I am going!”—Lady Augusta
Stanley.
You speak of “rest,” this will indeed be sweet,
Ease for the aching heart and throbbing brain;
No more the sickness, or the fever's heat,
The bitter anguish, or the wasting pain.
Oh, to lie ever in my Saviour's breast!
Never to weep, or feel a pang again!
Nothing to mar, nothing to break my rest!
But, to content me, “rest” itself were vain;
Nay, even streams of pleasure ever flowing,
“I trust there will be work for me where I am going.”
Ease for the aching heart and throbbing brain;
No more the sickness, or the fever's heat,
The bitter anguish, or the wasting pain.
Oh, to lie ever in my Saviour's breast!
Never to weep, or feel a pang again!
Nothing to mar, nothing to break my rest!
But, to content me, “rest” itself were vain;
Nay, even streams of pleasure ever flowing,
“I trust there will be work for me where I am going.”
You speak of “glory,” and it will be bliss
To see the City shining in God's light;
And lying here, I often think of this,—
The gates of pearl, the walls of jasper bright;
But were this all, a something I should lose;
In endless service is my true delight,
And this the blessedness that I would choose;
For what, tho' splendours flashed upon my sight,
And heaven to me was all its wonders shewing,
“Were there no work for me to do where I am going!”
To see the City shining in God's light;
And lying here, I often think of this,—
The gates of pearl, the walls of jasper bright;
But were this all, a something I should lose;
In endless service is my true delight,
128
For what, tho' splendours flashed upon my sight,
And heaven to me was all its wonders shewing,
“Were there no work for me to do where I am going!”
You speak of “joy,” and rapture it will be
To take the harp and celebrate His praise;
To stand where flames the bright and crystal sea,
And sing the new sweet song—its notes to raise
Beneath the shadow of the rainbow'd throne;
To magnify my Saviour's works and ways,
And all His mercies and His love to own;
But not with song would I fill all my days.
Burns there a wish, like flame within me glowing,
“I trust there will be work for me where I am going.”
To take the harp and celebrate His praise;
To stand where flames the bright and crystal sea,
And sing the new sweet song—its notes to raise
Beneath the shadow of the rainbow'd throne;
To magnify my Saviour's works and ways,
And all His mercies and His love to own;
But not with song would I fill all my days.
Burns there a wish, like flame within me glowing,
“I trust there will be work for me where I am going.”
It has been dear, God knows how dear to me,
The blessedness of serving Him to prove,
A lowly handmaiden of His to be,
And by thy side in service sweet to move,
So, day by day, to do His holy will.
Pleasant to us these ministries of love,
Pleasant the happy hours with work to fill,
Ah, this was joy all other joys above!
Canst wonder then this thought is in me growing,
“Will there be work for me to do where I am going?”
The blessedness of serving Him to prove,
A lowly handmaiden of His to be,
And by thy side in service sweet to move,
So, day by day, to do His holy will.
Pleasant to us these ministries of love,
Pleasant the happy hours with work to fill,
Ah, this was joy all other joys above!
129
“Will there be work for me to do where I am going?”
Sweet work we had, Beloved. To tend the poor,
To soothe the sorrowful, console the sad;
To bind up broken hearts, the sick to cure,
To dry the weeping eye, make mourners glad;
To guide the sinful and the wandering home,
Stoop to the fallen, deeming none too bad
For Him who bids the very worst to come,
And who for deepest sores a balsam had.
And as there was a reaping after sowing,
“God give me work to do for Him where I am going!’
To soothe the sorrowful, console the sad;
To bind up broken hearts, the sick to cure,
To dry the weeping eye, make mourners glad;
To guide the sinful and the wandering home,
Stoop to the fallen, deeming none too bad
For Him who bids the very worst to come,
And who for deepest sores a balsam had.
And as there was a reaping after sowing,
“God give me work to do for Him where I am going!’
What ministries are there—ah, who can say!
What possibilities of work for those
Who never weary, “rest not night or day,”
Whose labour is not toil, nor needs repose.
Ah, as they climb new heights of glory still,
And heaven upon their vision ever grows,
And fresh unveilings of the Father's will,
What forms of service shall not God disclose!
The current of my hopes to this is flowing,
“I trust there will be work to do where I am going.”
What possibilities of work for those
Who never weary, “rest not night or day,”
Whose labour is not toil, nor needs repose.
Ah, as they climb new heights of glory still,
And heaven upon their vision ever grows,
And fresh unveilings of the Father's will,
What forms of service shall not God disclose!
The current of my hopes to this is flowing,
“I trust there will be work to do where I am going.”
| Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems | |