The Two Brothers, and other poems By Edward Henry Bickersteth |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
THE WILDERNESS GARDEN. |
 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
305
THE WILDERNESS GARDEN.
“Let my Beloved come into His garden.”—Song iv. 16.
“A rude unthankful plot, that ill repays
My labour,—rich in promise, scant in yield:—
Its myrtles choked with wild convolvulus;
Its vines tangled with briars, its choice trees
Hoary with lichen, and its flowering beds
With mosses overgrown and waving ferns:
And where the fruit should mellow on the wall
The ivy hugs the stones. And yet the sun
Shines on this hollow all the summer day,
And here the night-clouds shed their kindliest dews.
Weeds ripen; but the fruits and flowers, alas,
Are few and far and matted with thick leaves.
It hath been so for years. Must it be so
For ever: life's for ever? I have wept
Warm showers of tears upon its idle soil,
And labour'd early, and late taken rest:
It boots not. I can do no more: it needs
A stronger arm, a deeper skill than mine.
O Thou, the only Husbandman of hearts,
Stand, Lord, no longer at the wicket. See,
I draw the bar, I throw the latch-gate wide:
Come, Lord, in all Thy tenderness and power,
And dress and keep my garden for Thine own.”
My labour,—rich in promise, scant in yield:—
Its myrtles choked with wild convolvulus;
Its vines tangled with briars, its choice trees
Hoary with lichen, and its flowering beds
With mosses overgrown and waving ferns:
And where the fruit should mellow on the wall
The ivy hugs the stones. And yet the sun
Shines on this hollow all the summer day,
And here the night-clouds shed their kindliest dews.
Weeds ripen; but the fruits and flowers, alas,
Are few and far and matted with thick leaves.
It hath been so for years. Must it be so
For ever: life's for ever? I have wept
Warm showers of tears upon its idle soil,
306
It boots not. I can do no more: it needs
A stronger arm, a deeper skill than mine.
O Thou, the only Husbandman of hearts,
Stand, Lord, no longer at the wicket. See,
I draw the bar, I throw the latch-gate wide:
Come, Lord, in all Thy tenderness and power,
And dress and keep my garden for Thine own.”
“But if I enter at thy cry, My child,
I must pluck up full many a pleasant weed,
And prune away full many a wayward branch,
And disentwine full many a tendril's clasp,
And tear the ivy from its nest, and train
The bleeding fruit-bough to the ripening South,
And haply must transplant some drooping flowers,
Some of thy choicest treasures, from this soil
To My own mansion. I must come as Lord
And Master of thy Eden, if I come.
My pruning-knife is keen, My hand is firm.
Say, shall I linger at the wicket-gate,
Or enter at thy prayer?”
I must pluck up full many a pleasant weed,
And prune away full many a wayward branch,
And disentwine full many a tendril's clasp,
And tear the ivy from its nest, and train
The bleeding fruit-bough to the ripening South,
And haply must transplant some drooping flowers,
Some of thy choicest treasures, from this soil
To My own mansion. I must come as Lord
And Master of thy Eden, if I come.
My pruning-knife is keen, My hand is firm.
Say, shall I linger at the wicket-gate,
Or enter at thy prayer?”
307
“Come in, Lord, come!
Thy pruning-knife is keen, Thy hand is firm,
But, Lord, Thy heart is tremulous with love;
And Thou hast known the bitterness of tears:
Thou wilt not break the bruisèd reed for nought,
Thou wilt not wound the shrinking plant in vain.
Ask what Thou wilt, I would not say Thee nay:
Do only as Thou wilt with me and mine.
Thy will is only to make earth as heaven;
And if Thou deignest here to fix Thy home,
And shed Thy benison upon the flowers
Thyself art planting, watching, watering,
Or even, after lapse of many days,
To pluck some fruitage from Thy husbandry,
Surely my ruin'd Eden would be yet
Part of God's Paradise. Come in, Lord! come
To-day, Lord, not to-morrow. Oh, come now!”
Thy pruning-knife is keen, Thy hand is firm,
But, Lord, Thy heart is tremulous with love;
And Thou hast known the bitterness of tears:
Thou wilt not break the bruisèd reed for nought,
Thou wilt not wound the shrinking plant in vain.
Ask what Thou wilt, I would not say Thee nay:
Do only as Thou wilt with me and mine.
Thy will is only to make earth as heaven;
And if Thou deignest here to fix Thy home,
And shed Thy benison upon the flowers
Thyself art planting, watching, watering,
Or even, after lapse of many days,
To pluck some fruitage from Thy husbandry,
Surely my ruin'd Eden would be yet
Part of God's Paradise. Come in, Lord! come
To-day, Lord, not to-morrow. Oh, come now!”
“I am within thy garden: let Me work.”
1871.
| The Two Brothers, and other poems | |