 | Poems of home and country |  |
KIND GREETINGS.
THE FRIENDSHIPS WE FORMED.
HARVARD CLASS OF '29.
The friendships we formed when life was still young;The sports that we joined in, the songs we then sung,—
How oft from the chambers of memory they well,
Like the echo of waves in the beautiful shell.
The griefs we have met on the pathway of life,
The conquests won bravely amid the stern strife,
The light and the shadow, the joy and the woe,—
Form, like sunshine and raindrop, the radiant bow
That rests on the brow of the storms that are o'er,
That lights up the wave where it breaks on the shore,
That fades like the fair hues of hopes that are riven,
But sails, as it fades, thro' the blue arch of heaven.
The garlands we wove on the foretop of Time,
Tho' robbed of the freshness they wore in our prime;
The castles we built, so lofty and fair,
Tho' crumbled to dust, or vanished in air;
The barks we once freighted, with hearts beating high,
And launched on the sea without tremor or sigh,
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The more grand their career, the more sad and more brief;
Tho' the plants we have loved to angels are given,
Having climbed o'er the wall, and are blooming in heaven,—
Still this chain of our love does not weaken with years,
Nor wear with the friction of toil and of tears;
Nor crumble in dust, nor vanish like breath;
Nor chill with the darkness, and shadow of death;
Nor perish in shipwreck, nor waste in the tomb,—
A thing to be lost in earth's gathering gloom.
Tho' Time's jealous fingers make all things decay,
We brighten its links as the years pass away;
We fastened the lock in our youth and our glee,
Then wandered abroad and have lost the sole key.
But the heart-clasp unites so firmly the chain
That 't is welded by time, and must ever remain.
January 6, 1859.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND AT TWENTY-ONE.
Like a swift racer, clear the lines
That cross thy life's unfolding plan,
And leave the plays that please the child,
For toils that dignify the man.
That cross thy life's unfolding plan,
And leave the plays that please the child,
For toils that dignify the man.
The world before thee waits thy choice;
The coming years to thee belong.
With stern ambition climb the heights;
Let hardships only make thee strong.
The coming years to thee belong.
With stern ambition climb the heights;
Let hardships only make thee strong.
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Cleave to the good, the pure, the just;
Be thy whole life a life of love;
By noble thoughts and lofty aims,
Thyself to men and God approve.
Be thy whole life a life of love;
By noble thoughts and lofty aims,
Thyself to men and God approve.
Love the dear land that gave thee birth,—
The land thy fathers died to save;
They, the real nobles of the earth,
The true, the loyal, and the brave.
The land thy fathers died to save;
They, the real nobles of the earth,
The true, the loyal, and the brave.
Walk in the footsteps of the wise;
Frown on the wrong, the right defend;
Spurn from thy soul all selfish aims;
Do thy whole duty till the end.
Frown on the wrong, the right defend;
Spurn from thy soul all selfish aims;
Do thy whole duty till the end.
So shalt thou leave a fragrant fame;
Thy deeds thy monument shall raise;
The world shall bless thy honored name,
And men unborn shall speak thy praise.
Thy deeds thy monument shall raise;
The world shall bless thy honored name,
And men unborn shall speak thy praise.
TO A YOUNG MAIDEN.
As blushing tints still mantle o'er the shellWhose tiny owner dwells in it no more;
As fragrant rose-leaves to the traveller tell
Where nodded in its pride the beauteous flower,—
So may thy path through this fair world be strewn
With sweet remembrances, to rouse and cheer
The weary wanderer, gladly forced to own
Where thou hast trod, a joy still lingers there.
September 12, 1872.
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REV. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE'S 70TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.
Threescore and ten!—the crimson sunlight, waning,
Lights up the landscape with intenser glow;
The arch of days—some, bright; some, dull with raining—
Is spanned and clasped with heaven's fair, radiant bow.
Lights up the landscape with intenser glow;
The arch of days—some, bright; some, dull with raining—
Is spanned and clasped with heaven's fair, radiant bow.
Threescore and ten!—the years consumed in toiling,—
Honored and happy, how they fled away!
Earth of its woes, and time of stings despoiling,
Day ever brightening into fairer day!
Honored and happy, how they fled away!
Earth of its woes, and time of stings despoiling,
Day ever brightening into fairer day!
Threescore and ten!—how has the infant's prattle
Changed to the eloquence of active men!
How many, fallen in life's stern storm and battle,
Passed on, and crowned, will come no more again!
Changed to the eloquence of active men!
How many, fallen in life's stern storm and battle,
Passed on, and crowned, will come no more again!
Threescore and ten!—how fondly memory lingers
With friends and voices known and loved so well!
And deft with inspiration, Fancy's fingers
Weave the old histories with their magic spell.
With friends and voices known and loved so well!
And deft with inspiration, Fancy's fingers
Weave the old histories with their magic spell.
Threescore and ten!—yet marked by no decaying,
The juicy vine festoons the sunny hill,—
Its summer foliage, fresh and full, displaying,
And clusters ripening on the trellis still.
The juicy vine festoons the sunny hill,—
Its summer foliage, fresh and full, displaying,
And clusters ripening on the trellis still.
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Threescore and ten!—Oh, is it fact, or dreaming?
How strangely wrong our judgment is, of men;
In form and feature, strong and youthful seeming,
We lose the date, and think age young again.
How strangely wrong our judgment is, of men;
In form and feature, strong and youthful seeming,
We lose the date, and think age young again.
Threescore and ten!—the evening shadows lengthen,
And whispering winds their fragrant incense breathe;
Faith, hope, and love the pilgrim spirit strengthen,
And hands unseen their benedictions wreathe.
And whispering winds their fragrant incense breathe;
Faith, hope, and love the pilgrim spirit strengthen,
And hands unseen their benedictions wreathe.
O Life mysterious, whose slow unfolding
Evades the prying of our human ken!
We trust the future to His wise upholding
Whose love has watched the threescore years and ten!
Evades the prying of our human ken!
We trust the future to His wise upholding
Whose love has watched the threescore years and ten!
DEACON GEORGE W. CHIPMAN, AT SEVENTY.
'T is fitting thus to honor the man of threescore years and ten,
Who has fulfilled his mission nobly among the sons of men,—
Like a warrior, safe returning from a hundred well-fought fields,
Like a reaper, with his arms full of the sheaves good tillage yields.
Who has fulfilled his mission nobly among the sons of men,—
Like a warrior, safe returning from a hundred well-fought fields,
Like a reaper, with his arms full of the sheaves good tillage yields.
Some silver hairs are creeping, one by one, among the brown;
'T is always so when the angels set to weaving glory's crown,
Like the great sun in heaven, when it nears the horizon's rim;
Nor is his natural force abridged, nor his peerless sight grown dim.
'T is always so when the angels set to weaving glory's crown,
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Nor is his natural force abridged, nor his peerless sight grown dim.
So a tall cathedral pillar, planted firm by ancient hands,
So a tree amid the forest, braving storm and tempest, stands;
So the lighthouse, sending forth its rays across the billowy foam,
Unmoved while the generations pass, guides many a pilgrim home.
So a tree amid the forest, braving storm and tempest, stands;
So the lighthouse, sending forth its rays across the billowy foam,
Unmoved while the generations pass, guides many a pilgrim home.
Where are the children he once knew? Methinks the birds are flown,—
The lisping girls are matrons; the boys, gray-beard men are grown;
The old nests, or others like them, on the old branches hang,
And the younger broods still warble as the birds of old time sang;
And the eye that saw, the voice that led, the heart that loved their trill,
Though fifty springs have vanished, sees them, leads them, loves them, still.
How the many earlier reapers from the field of toil have passed,
And memory round their absent forms has its mantle of glory cast!
They passed as the twilight passes into the noontide ray,
As the morning star is melted in the light of glowing day.
The pastors whom he loved and helped,—some still reap earth's harvests white;
Some, glorified, walk with the Lamb on high, in raiment of dazzling light.
Thank God, as suns at setting shed their glow on each purple hill,
One orb, that shone at morn and noon, in its brightness lingers still.
A Nestor, in the field he tilled, we cannot think him old!
No ice has chilled his tropic heart, no rust forms on the gold.
The lisping girls are matrons; the boys, gray-beard men are grown;
The old nests, or others like them, on the old branches hang,
And the younger broods still warble as the birds of old time sang;
And the eye that saw, the voice that led, the heart that loved their trill,
Though fifty springs have vanished, sees them, leads them, loves them, still.
How the many earlier reapers from the field of toil have passed,
And memory round their absent forms has its mantle of glory cast!
They passed as the twilight passes into the noontide ray,
As the morning star is melted in the light of glowing day.
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Some, glorified, walk with the Lamb on high, in raiment of dazzling light.
Thank God, as suns at setting shed their glow on each purple hill,
One orb, that shone at morn and noon, in its brightness lingers still.
A Nestor, in the field he tilled, we cannot think him old!
No ice has chilled his tropic heart, no rust forms on the gold.
His step is yet firm; his hand is strong; his mellow voice still rings.
He speaks,—men listen to his word; he moves, as if with wings.
Erect his form, and on his face not a channel left to show
How the glaciers of olden time slid down into the valleys below.
His bright meridian sun, perchance, down towards the horizon dips,
But sinks behind no shadowing cloud, is hid by no eclipse;
As new year follows new year, and day wakens after day,
Onward, and upward, upward still, it holds its shining way;
And setting, like the orbs of night behind the darkening west,
When the hours of noble toil have earned the fitting hours of rest,
It will set, alone to this lower sphere, but, by a law sublime,
Set only to rise in glorious light in a far brighter clime.
He speaks,—men listen to his word; he moves, as if with wings.
Erect his form, and on his face not a channel left to show
How the glaciers of olden time slid down into the valleys below.
His bright meridian sun, perchance, down towards the horizon dips,
But sinks behind no shadowing cloud, is hid by no eclipse;
As new year follows new year, and day wakens after day,
Onward, and upward, upward still, it holds its shining way;
And setting, like the orbs of night behind the darkening west,
When the hours of noble toil have earned the fitting hours of rest,
It will set, alone to this lower sphere, but, by a law sublime,
Set only to rise in glorious light in a far brighter clime.
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LYMAN JEWETT, D.D., ON HIS SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY.
Honored by all, where'er thy name is heard,
Beloved apostle of thy loving Lord,
We greet thee gladly on thy festal day,
And gladly at thy feet our tribute lay.
Beloved apostle of thy loving Lord,
We greet thee gladly on thy festal day,
And gladly at thy feet our tribute lay.
Honored, to sow the seed with toil and tears;
Honored, to reap for God the joyful ears;
Honored, to pray the prayer of faith and love;
Honored, to hear the answer from above;
Honored, when wavering faith, advised to yield,
Bravely to fight in front, and hold the field,
With valiant heart and never-flinching eye,
Foreseeing Christ enthroned, and victory,—
Like soldiers, ere the battle's rage is done,
Sending reports of richest trophies won,
Of armies slain, and hostile banners furled,
Prophetic emblems of a conquered world;
Honored, to bring thy own despatches home,
“The battle gained! The hour of triumph come!”
Honored, to see the idol-temples fall,
And ransomed thousands crown the Lord of all;
Honored, in lonely trust, with wearing toils,
To heap, at Jesus' feet, uncounted spoils
Till “the Lone Star,” on heaven's immortal blue,
At last, a brilliant constellation grew.
Honored, to reap for God the joyful ears;
Honored, to pray the prayer of faith and love;
Honored, to hear the answer from above;
Honored, when wavering faith, advised to yield,
Bravely to fight in front, and hold the field,
With valiant heart and never-flinching eye,
Foreseeing Christ enthroned, and victory,—
Like soldiers, ere the battle's rage is done,
Sending reports of richest trophies won,
Of armies slain, and hostile banners furled,
Prophetic emblems of a conquered world;
Honored, to bring thy own despatches home,
“The battle gained! The hour of triumph come!”
Honored, to see the idol-temples fall,
And ransomed thousands crown the Lord of all;
Honored, in lonely trust, with wearing toils,
To heap, at Jesus' feet, uncounted spoils
Till “the Lone Star,” on heaven's immortal blue,
At last, a brilliant constellation grew.
O meek apostle, what rare bliss is thine!
What toils, what triumphs, in thy lot combine!
Wise, to discern the task thy Lord had given;
Faithful, to point the weeping eye to heaven;
Grand, a whole world in arms of love to embrace;
Patient, to fill, and grace, the humblest place;
Waiting, from youth to age, life's mystery,
And prompt, unquestioning, Lord, to follow Thee.
What toils, what triumphs, in thy lot combine!
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Faithful, to point the weeping eye to heaven;
Grand, a whole world in arms of love to embrace;
Patient, to fill, and grace, the humblest place;
Waiting, from youth to age, life's mystery,
And prompt, unquestioning, Lord, to follow Thee.
E'en now the light, that fills the world of bliss,
Shines o'er the battlements to illumine this;
The crowns, the crowns, almost thy eyes can see,
Bought by atoning blood, faith's mystery!
Songs of the ransomed thou canst almost hear,—
Their lofty melodies awake thine ear;
And earth, redeemed, the glorious pæan sings,
In mighty measures, to the King of kings.
Shines o'er the battlements to illumine this;
The crowns, the crowns, almost thy eyes can see,
Bought by atoning blood, faith's mystery!
Songs of the ransomed thou canst almost hear,—
Their lofty melodies awake thine ear;
And earth, redeemed, the glorious pæan sings,
In mighty measures, to the King of kings.
Should thy dear life a rounded century see,
Thy feet three-fourths have trod towards immortality.
Thy feet three-fourths have trod towards immortality.
March 8, 1888.
TO DEACON J. W. CONVERSE, ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY.
Hail! friend and brother, on this bright birthday!
Bright in its thoughts, its memories, hopes, and feeling;
The years have scarcely tinged thy locks with gray,
Thy honored age revealing, yet concealing.
Bright in its thoughts, its memories, hopes, and feeling;
The years have scarcely tinged thy locks with gray,
Thy honored age revealing, yet concealing.
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O'er what long, winding ways thy steps have trod!
What varied cares and trusts, successive pressing,
Have taught thee, leaning on the arm of God,
The rugged path becomes the path of blessing!
What varied cares and trusts, successive pressing,
Have taught thee, leaning on the arm of God,
The rugged path becomes the path of blessing!
What changes to thy wondering eyes have come!
A scroll of miracles, slowly unfolding,—
Some, grandly understood; mysterious, some,—
But one dear Hand above, thy own hand holding.
A scroll of miracles, slowly unfolding,—
Some, grandly understood; mysterious, some,—
But one dear Hand above, thy own hand holding.
And yet, so quick thy step, so lithe thy frame,
The tell-tale years seeming so little weighty,
Thy buoyant, youthful vigor still the same,—
It might be but eighteen, instead of eighty.
The tell-tale years seeming so little weighty,
Thy buoyant, youthful vigor still the same,—
It might be but eighteen, instead of eighty.
Sheltered and guided by that Power above
To reverend age, up from the infant's prattle;
Living for Christ's dear cause a life of love;
Honored to dare and do in life's great battle.
To reverend age, up from the infant's prattle;
Living for Christ's dear cause a life of love;
Honored to dare and do in life's great battle.
'T is thine to bring forth fruit still, even in age,—
Thou to whom fruitful years have long been granted,
Like trees, still verdant 'mid the winter's rage,
Like the rich palms in God's own garden planted.
Thou to whom fruitful years have long been granted,
Like trees, still verdant 'mid the winter's rage,
Like the rich palms in God's own garden planted.
The years roll on; so from the mountain-thread
Swells and expands the deepening, widening river;
So life grows onward from its infant seed,
Broadening, prophetic of the grand forever.
Swells and expands the deepening, widening river;
So life grows onward from its infant seed,
Broadening, prophetic of the grand forever.
Long may thy well-strung bow in strength abide;
And far the day, thou to whom much is given,
Ere the celestial gates shall open wide
To add to all the crown of life in heaven.
And far the day, thou to whom much is given,
Ere the celestial gates shall open wide
To add to all the crown of life in heaven.
January 11, 1888.
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A GOLDEN WEDDING SONG.
REV. AND MRS. W. C. RICHARDS, 1841.
Blest are these years of wedded love,—
Gifts which attest God's loving hand,
Bright years in all their varied course,
Like streams that glide o'er golden sand.
Gifts which attest God's loving hand,
Bright years in all their varied course,
Like streams that glide o'er golden sand.
These fifty years,—so long, so short,
Ten thousand blessings in their train,
Fraught with unnumbered passing joys,—
Well might we live them o'er again!
Ten thousand blessings in their train,
Fraught with unnumbered passing joys,—
Well might we live them o'er again!
The wedding song of love we sung,—
To-day revives the sweet refrain;
Love is undying in its source;
Bridegroom and bride, we live again.
To-day revives the sweet refrain;
Love is undying in its source;
Bridegroom and bride, we live again.
And who are these in stalwart frame;
And these arrayed in sunny curls?
“Our children, and their children fair,—
Pledges of love, our boys and girls.”
And these arrayed in sunny curls?
“Our children, and their children fair,—
Pledges of love, our boys and girls.”
How blest the way thy feet have trod,
Brother, to whom the trust was given;
To feed the happy flock of God,
And guide the wanderer's steps to heaven.
Brother, to whom the trust was given;
To feed the happy flock of God,
And guide the wanderer's steps to heaven.
Nor this alone; the world to thee,
Has opened all its secret heart,
And taught her wonders to explore,—
A miracle in every part.
Has opened all its secret heart,
And taught her wonders to explore,—
A miracle in every part.
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Happy the pair whose gracious lives
In long enduring love combine;
His, the firm trellis for support,
And hers, the sweet and clustering vine.
In long enduring love combine;
His, the firm trellis for support,
And hers, the sweet and clustering vine.
The fire by night, the cloud by day,
Guided and kept the loving twain;
And storms that swept the desert path
Fell round their tent like gentle rain.
Guided and kept the loving twain;
And storms that swept the desert path
Fell round their tent like gentle rain.
Long may the bow abide in strength!
Oh, linger long thy peaceful days;
Let life be one long wedding feast,
And its whole course, a psalm of praise!
Oh, linger long thy peaceful days;
Let life be one long wedding feast,
And its whole course, a psalm of praise!
Sing on, sweet singer, while the years
Add to thy honors and thy fame;
Till heaven, on some far distant day,
Bids to the wedding of the Lamb.
Add to thy honors and thy fame;
Till heaven, on some far distant day,
Bids to the wedding of the Lamb.
A GOLDEN WEDDING.
DR. AND MRS. J. W. PARKER.
Fifty full years!—how fair and grand the record!
Fifty full years! with every virtue rife;
Sweetly and sacredly bound to each other,
A faithful husband and a faithful wife!
Fifty full years! with every virtue rife;
Sweetly and sacredly bound to each other,
A faithful husband and a faithful wife!
Bound to each other in devout affection,
Witnessed by loving lives and loving word;
Made nobly one by heaven's divine selection,—
One in each other, one in Christ their Lord!
Witnessed by loving lives and loving word;
Made nobly one by heaven's divine selection,—
One in each other, one in Christ their Lord!
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Bound to each other, whether joy or sorrow,
Sickness or health, prevailed, sunshine or shade;
Skilful from good or ill some boon to borrow,
Each on the other's arm, both on God stayed.
Sickness or health, prevailed, sunshine or shade;
Skilful from good or ill some boon to borrow,
Each on the other's arm, both on God stayed.
Dear herald of the everlasting gospel!
Filled with the grateful memories of the past,
Thanks that thy other self, like God's fair angel,
Is spared to hover round thee to the last.
Filled with the grateful memories of the past,
Thanks that thy other self, like God's fair angel,
Is spared to hover round thee to the last.
The last! Oh, no, earth's last is heaven's beginning!
Earth's ties, dissevered, are but joined above;
Earth's service changed to service without sinning,
And earth's imperfect, to heaven's perfect love.
Earth's ties, dissevered, are but joined above;
Earth's service changed to service without sinning,
And earth's imperfect, to heaven's perfect love.
Ye have walked nobly through these earthly shadows,
As years to years were added, sun by sun,
Weaving the threads of life, or dark or shining,
Still one in heart,—in love and purpose one.
As years to years were added, sun by sun,
Weaving the threads of life, or dark or shining,
Still one in heart,—in love and purpose one.
God's choicest blessings o'er your heads will hover,
Till the brave warrior wears the conqueror's crown,
Till the tired reaper in the gathering evening,
Released from toil, shall lay the sickle down.
Till the brave warrior wears the conqueror's crown,
Till the tired reaper in the gathering evening,
Released from toil, shall lay the sickle down.
Then shall earth's fifty years, at heaven's bright portal,
No more a symbol, marred by life's dull fever,
Expanding, change into the joy immortal,
And souls, now one on earth, be one forever.
No more a symbol, marred by life's dull fever,
Expanding, change into the joy immortal,
And souls, now one on earth, be one forever.
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MRS. JOSEPH W. PARKER, LOS ANGELES, CAL., ON HER EIGHTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.
Did I hear you say, “'T is eighty”?
Methinks it cannot be;
I see no frosts nor snowflakes
Gathered on the sunny tree;
There are only white-browed pansies,
Not a snowdrift to be found.
Oh, the snows are all white rose-leaves
Which flutter o'er the ground!
Methinks it cannot be;
I see no frosts nor snowflakes
Gathered on the sunny tree;
There are only white-browed pansies,
Not a snowdrift to be found.
Oh, the snows are all white rose-leaves
Which flutter o'er the ground!
Did you tell me, “Eighty spring-tides,
With their tender buds, have passed,”
And how you watch expectant,
The fading of the last?
I only see the blossoms,
And hear the sweet birds sing,
Prophetic of the beauty
Of the immortal spring.
With their tender buds, have passed,”
And how you watch expectant,
The fading of the last?
I only see the blossoms,
And hear the sweet birds sing,
Prophetic of the beauty
Of the immortal spring.
Do you whisper, “Eighty summers
With their grace and glow have fled”?
Do you mourn the early blossoms,
Now sleeping with the dead?
'T is but a mortal counting,
That dotes on tide and clime;
Your youthful heart is weaving
Summer garlands all the time.
With their grace and glow have fled”?
Do you mourn the early blossoms,
Now sleeping with the dead?
'T is but a mortal counting,
That dotes on tide and clime;
Your youthful heart is weaving
Summer garlands all the time.
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Do you tell me, “Eighty autumns
Have heaped their harvests in,
And the wintry winds come, blowing,
Where the waving crops have been”?
You are reaping, gentle lady,
Richest harvests, day by day;
The fruits of your bright seed-time
Ever press your pilgrim way.
Have heaped their harvests in,
And the wintry winds come, blowing,
Where the waving crops have been”?
You are reaping, gentle lady,
Richest harvests, day by day;
The fruits of your bright seed-time
Ever press your pilgrim way.
As the glad sun approaches,
And all the stars grow dim,
The fringe of coming glory
Lights up the horizon's rim;
And the dear Hand that guided,
Till the tale became fourscore,
Never weary, never fainting,
Will be sure forevermore.
And all the stars grow dim,
The fringe of coming glory
Lights up the horizon's rim;
And the dear Hand that guided,
Till the tale became fourscore,
Never weary, never fainting,
Will be sure forevermore.
Yes, 't is eighty,—truly, eighty!
How swiftly the seasons glide!
'T is eighty,—more than eighty,—
And three happy years beside!
Why should we wish them fewer,—
The years that God has given?
The more the finished years of earth,
The nearer, rest and heaven.
How swiftly the seasons glide!
'T is eighty,—more than eighty,—
And three happy years beside!
Why should we wish them fewer,—
The years that God has given?
The more the finished years of earth,
The nearer, rest and heaven.
January, 1893.
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GEORGE C. LORIMER.
Brother and friend, with joy we meet
Thy welcome form at home again;
With joy thy honored face we greet,
Like the glad rainbow after rain.
Thy welcome form at home again;
With joy thy honored face we greet,
Like the glad rainbow after rain.
Not as a stranger in the fold,
Not as a hireling for the flock,
Thy well known call sounds as of old;
The ancient key just fits the lock.
Not as a hireling for the flock,
Thy well known call sounds as of old;
The ancient key just fits the lock.
Come as a soldier from the field,
From battles fought and victories won,—
Thy old commission newly sealed,
A fresh and grand campaign begun.
From battles fought and victories won,—
Thy old commission newly sealed,
A fresh and grand campaign begun.
Come 'neath the banner of the Cross;
The Prince of life shall lead the way,
Marshal the troops, or gain or loss,
His Arm, resistless, wins the day.
The Prince of life shall lead the way,
Marshal the troops, or gain or loss,
His Arm, resistless, wins the day.
So, in the tide of ripening life,
The warrior yearns to tread again,
And bless, the fields of mortal strife,—
The peaceful bivouac of the slain.
The warrior yearns to tread again,
And bless, the fields of mortal strife,—
The peaceful bivouac of the slain.
We know thee well; our throbbing hearts
In ardent love respond to thine,—
The new love, like the former, starts
From the one Root of Life Divine.
In ardent love respond to thine,—
The new love, like the former, starts
From the one Root of Life Divine.
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Thy star will suffer no eclipse,
If God thy burning words inspire;
We trust in Him to touch thy lips,
Dear prophet, with His hallowed fire.
If God thy burning words inspire;
We trust in Him to touch thy lips,
Dear prophet, with His hallowed fire.
March on, march on, triumphant band,
Obedient to your Leader's call!
Wave the red banner o'er the land,
And crown the Saviour Lord of all!
Obedient to your Leader's call!
Wave the red banner o'er the land,
And crown the Saviour Lord of all!
ADONIRAM JUDSON GORDON.
ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS PASTORATE AT CLARENDON ST., BOSTON, DECEMBER, 26 1894.
Shepherd and Heavenly Friend,
Almighty to defend
Thy little flock,
In verdant pastures fed,
To living waters led,
We cling to Thee our Head.
Our sheltering Rock.
Almighty to defend
Thy little flock,
In verdant pastures fed,
To living waters led,
We cling to Thee our Head.
Our sheltering Rock.
Our shepherd heeds Thy voice,—
The shepherd of our choice,
The proved, the tried;
Strong to obey Thy will,
Thy service to fulfil,
Our loving shepherd still,
Our friend, our guide.
The shepherd of our choice,
The proved, the tried;
Strong to obey Thy will,
Thy service to fulfil,
Our loving shepherd still,
Our friend, our guide.
60
Kept near Thy gracious side,
Long may his arm abide,
Strong in Thy might;
Speak through his lips that word
Which listening chaos heard,
And all its depths were stirred,
“Let there be light.”
Long may his arm abide,
Strong in Thy might;
Speak through his lips that word
Which listening chaos heard,
And all its depths were stirred,
“Let there be light.”
Head of the Church, to Thee
Immortal glory be,—
We wait Thy word!
Thy glorious kingdom bring,
Bid heaven's great anthem ring;
Christ, Thou of kings art King,
Of lords art Lord!
Immortal glory be,—
We wait Thy word!
Thy glorious kingdom bring,
Bid heaven's great anthem ring;
Christ, Thou of kings art King,
Of lords art Lord!
December 12, 1894.
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