The Two Brothers, and other poems By Edward Henry Bickersteth |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII.
THE THREE BIRTHDAYS. |
 |
 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
VII. THE THREE BIRTHDAYS.
TO THE MEMORY OF ONE WHO, IN BLINDNESS AND SUFFERING, BUT IN THE FULL ASSURANCE OF FAITH, SAID, A FEW HOURS BEFORE HER DEATH, THAT SHE HAD ALWAYS HEARD THAT THREE BIRTHDAYS WERE OURS:—OUR NATURAL BIRTHDAY, OUR SPIRITUAL BIRTHDAY, AND OUR BIRTHDAY INTO GLORY: AND THAT SHE WAS SURE THE LAST WAS THE BRIGHTEST AND THE BEST.
Joy for thee, newborn child of heaven! once there was joy on earth,
What time from eager lip to lip ran tidings of thy birth,
And glad hearts beat more gladly, and quick steps more quickly trod
To tell that home was richer with another gift from God.
What time from eager lip to lip ran tidings of thy birth,
212
To tell that home was richer with another gift from God.
Years fleeted by; until beneath the brooding of the Dove,
Thy heart was warm'd and waken'd to the voice of heavenly love;
Then deeper waves of joy across their golden harp-strings stole,
As angels sang before the throne the birthday of thy soul.
Thy heart was warm'd and waken'd to the voice of heavenly love;
Then deeper waves of joy across their golden harp-strings stole,
As angels sang before the throne the birthday of thy soul.
Years fleeted by; and still thy path grew brighter and more bright,
And stars from daylight hidden gemm'd the clear sky of thy night.
Thy spirit drank of rivulets that never could run dry;
And suffering never seem'd to cloud the summer of thy sky.
And stars from daylight hidden gemm'd the clear sky of thy night.
Thy spirit drank of rivulets that never could run dry;
And suffering never seem'd to cloud the summer of thy sky.
And all who knew thee loved thee; and they loved thee most of all,
Who mark'd thy patient waiting for thy Master's long'd-for call:
It came, at last, that joy of joys, the latest and the best,
The birthday of a child of heaven,—the dawn of perfect rest.
Who mark'd thy patient waiting for thy Master's long'd-for call:
213
The birthday of a child of heaven,—the dawn of perfect rest.
Dear sainted sister, we rejoice, the more we weep our loss;
And while we think upon thy crown, more humbly bear our cross.
For in our heart of hearts is heard the calm prophetic warning,
The bridal of the Church is near, her glory's natal morning.
And while we think upon thy crown, more humbly bear our cross.
For in our heart of hearts is heard the calm prophetic warning,
The bridal of the Church is near, her glory's natal morning.
1861.
| The Two Brothers, and other poems | |