 | Amenophis and Other Poems Sacred and Secular |  |
79
XXIX
IN THE VINEYARD
Within a trellised angle idly laid
'Neath the green lulling shade,
Shunning the toil they hardly care to shun,
Who waste the priceless hours
When man's best work is done?
'Neath the green lulling shade,
Shunning the toil they hardly care to shun,
Who waste the priceless hours
When man's best work is done?
—As from the unsilver'd grass the dawn-dew fled,
The vineyard's Lord and Head
Call'd in the market-place the stalwart crew
Of labourers ruddy-brown,
Pledging each man his due.
The vineyard's Lord and Head
Call'd in the market-place the stalwart crew
Of labourers ruddy-brown,
Pledging each man his due.
Yet,—for God smiled on that full crop, and it
Was for the vintage fit,—
Again the Lord went forth, and hiring more,
Sent with their baskets in,
To pile the purple store.
Was for the vintage fit,—
Again the Lord went forth, and hiring more,
Sent with their baskets in,
To pile the purple store.
And now the sudden twilight-pause is near
When the three stars appear,
Signals of eve and rest from toil retired,—
While yet the loiterers lie
Listless, unask'd, unhired.
When the three stars appear,
Signals of eve and rest from toil retired,—
While yet the loiterers lie
Listless, unask'd, unhired.
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But thick the grapes, the mildewing night-air's prey,
Be they not stored to-day;
‘More hands, more hearts I crave; I call ye last,
My labourers, Mine, though late,
Your day of grace nigh past.’
Be they not stored to-day;
‘More hands, more hearts I crave; I call ye last,
My labourers, Mine, though late,
Your day of grace nigh past.’
Ah! when that loving cry upon them broke,
To manhood's part they woke,
Each offering his best strength of heart and limb,
And inly only felt
The bliss of work for Him!
To manhood's part they woke,
Each offering his best strength of heart and limb,
And inly only felt
The bliss of work for Him!
So these last, till the night when none can toil,
Gather the harvest spoil;
Last these;—yet when the gate was closed, the Lord
Summoning around Him all,
Gave them the like reward;
Gather the harvest spoil;
Last these;—yet when the gate was closed, the Lord
Summoning around Him all,
Gave them the like reward;
At the true heart's love-labour, one by one,
Rating the service done:—
Not the world's surface-standard, by success
Weighing the man, and blind
To the inward more and less.
Rating the service done:—
Not the world's surface-standard, by success
Weighing the man, and blind
To the inward more and less.
—The day far spent, yet for my Saviour's sake,
Lord! ere Thine Angels take
The tares and wheat of Earth's last harvest-home,
E'en at the eleventh hour
May I be call'd, and come!
Lord! ere Thine Angels take
The tares and wheat of Earth's last harvest-home,
E'en at the eleventh hour
May I be call'd, and come!
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