 | Words by the Wayside |  |
101
Frederick Temple
Fallen is the Master-Builder! and how fill
The void? What new Zerubbabel appears
For this old Knight of God, whose eighty years
Slacked not the hands that would be toiling still?
Who thronged in youth to hear him—with what thrill
Recall we yet the harsh voice dipped in tears,
As, stone by stone, his living House he rears
Upon the bed-rock of the Eternal Will!
The void? What new Zerubbabel appears
For this old Knight of God, whose eighty years
Slacked not the hands that would be toiling still?
Who thronged in youth to hear him—with what thrill
Recall we yet the harsh voice dipped in tears,
As, stone by stone, his living House he rears
Upon the bed-rock of the Eternal Will!
Rugged as Cato, nor less sternly true,
Beneath his brows, with solid thought o'er-hung,
There flashed twin fire-bolts that burned evil through:
For the World's ear Thor's hammer was his tongue:
But to Christ's simple folk, the old, the young,
How tender, those alone who learned him knew.
Beneath his brows, with solid thought o'er-hung,
There flashed twin fire-bolts that burned evil through:
For the World's ear Thor's hammer was his tongue:
But to Christ's simple folk, the old, the young,
How tender, those alone who learned him knew.
| Words by the Wayside | |