The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

The sheep who know the shepherd's tone
Delight to hear his voice;
His guiding way becomes their own,
His wish their willing choice:
So is it with regenerate Souls,
Whose love the law of grace controls;
Let but the Shepherd of the Spirit call,—
Like echoes they reply, and leave their noblest all!

So was it in the Church of old
When, walking by the sea,
The Lord of Mercy did behold
The twin elect of Galilee,

102

Two fishers there, who cast the net
The produce of the lake to get;
But when that “Follow Me!” from Christ was heard,
The laden ships they left, responsive to His word.

So is it now; if Hearts be true
To Him whose shepherd-cry
Will never cause that soul to rue
Which dares itself deny,
And lives for Christ, where'er it roam;—
Serene abroad, resign'd at home,
By crowded mart, or in resounding street
Where all the mingled tides of sin and struggle meet.

Life need not seek monastic cell,
Nor yearn for cloister'd shades;
Nor sigh for some Arcadian dell,
And green poetic glades
Where blissful Quiet can enjoy
The bower of peace without alloy;
But rather rest where Providence doth say,
“Move in thine orbit here, for Wisdom chose the way.”

They are not meek who fretful ask,
Or pine for distant spheres;
Let heaven be view'd in ev'ry task
And that will soothe our fears!
We should not e'en by thought rebel;
For God works all things wise and well,
And for each being doth unroll the plan
Eternity decreed, before the hills began.

To sigh for some romantic spot
Of solitude and peace,
And clasp in dreams a perfect lot
Where care and sorrow cease,—
To God must breathe of discontent,
Howe'er with sainted feeling blent;
Our proper sphere in providence must be
Where Christ in spirit comes, and utters, “Follow Me!”

Localities alone confine
The gilded mocks of earth;
But they who bear a charm divine
Which seals our second birth,
High o'er the world's bewilder'd sphere
The still small voice of Christ can hear:
And so, when Mammon tempts, or Belial reigns,
Bound at the Master's voice, and burst their venal chains.

Thus to the publican there came
A “Follow Me,” which drew
His heart to hear That holy Name
Which heaven proclaim'd the true;
All circumstance, and scene, and lot,
The den, the dungeon, or the cot,—
Let but the voice of duty call us there,
And Faith may hallow each by watchfulness and prayer.

And hence may those who dwell
Far from the hurried mart,
Where sylvan homes with quiet spell
Attune some thinking heart,
When haply through harsh cities loud
They wind amid the toiling crowd,
Or through damp courts and dusky lanes of woe
See haggard Want and Age, with shrunken features go,—

Oh! let them not presume to say
That there, 'mid vexing strife,
No saintly Minds can muse or pray,
Or consecrate a life
To heaven-born cares, and hopes of bliss
Which lift them o'er a doom like this:—
For though the heart in rustic dreams will roam,
It glories in the truth, that Faith can find a home

Wherever love and prayer abide:
And hence, dear Lord, may we
Remember that calm Voice which cried,
To Levi,—“Follow Me!”
Whate'er the pathway life must tread,
Around us be Thy graces spread,
And thus no time, nor toil, nor space, nor scene
To hide Thy Word from us will ever intervene.

If such Thy will, by wooded streams,
Or vales of blissful calm,
Where the deep hush of holy dreams
Inspires unearthly balm,
Where from green hills the gladden'd eyes
Look speechless hymns beyond the skies,—
If there embower'd, Thou doom'st our lot to be,
Lord of the landscape fair! we glow to “follow” Thee.

Or, if Thy regal Word decide,
That cities throng'd and loud
Which billow with the restless tide
Of life's tumultuous crowd,
Should be our peopled deserts, where
Unechoed hearts conceal each care,—
Still may our souls by meek compliance find,
The ever-present Christ an anchor for the mind.

Love need not quit the humblest call,
But calmly work and wait;
For safety dwells where duties all
Attend our mortal state;—

103

Messiah did not die to give
Each heart the choice where faith would live;
But this He grants to all who seek for grace,—
The guidance of His truth, and glory of His face.

Yes, “Follow Me!” be this the word,
The motto of our lives;
Morn, noon, and night, let such be heard,
When Sin or Satan strives;
Should Passion rage, or Pride begin,
Or treason-banners rise within,
In all we feel, or fancy, do or dare,
Let Thy mild “Follow Me,” pursue us every where,

Great Captain of the meek and good!
Whose crimson guilt and stain
Shall never, through Thine awful blood,
Assail their souls again,
In self-denial, grief, or loss,
In all we have of care and cross,
Thy hand of mercy out of heaven bestow,
And let us feel its grasp, where'er our footsteps go.

Thy path was one of pain and grief,
A sacrifice of love;
Nor God, nor angel brought relief
From bowers of bliss above;
We ask not then poetic fields
Where life all bloom and brightness yields;
But this we seek,—a soul from murmurs free,
Whose heaven on earth it proves, in all to follow Thee.