 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
171
HENRY WARD BEECHER
PREACHER, POET, PHILANTHROPIST
Like a fountain that upsprings
In a desert wild and drear,
Like a clarion note that rings
Through the fastnesses of fear;
In a desert wild and drear,
Like a clarion note that rings
Through the fastnesses of fear;
Like a fortress on a rock,
Set to guard a wide domain,
Sheltering the affrighted flock
When destruction sweeps the plain;
Set to guard a wide domain,
Sheltering the affrighted flock
When destruction sweeps the plain;
Like a storm whose grandeur wild
Takes its way at heaven's behest;
Like a Samson undefiled,
To untruth a fatal guest;
Takes its way at heaven's behest;
Like a Samson undefiled,
To untruth a fatal guest;
Thus, with thoughts that flame and soar,
Thus, with spirit weaponed hand,
For dear peace and righteous war,
Stood our preacher in the land.
Thus, with spirit weaponed hand,
For dear peace and righteous war,
Stood our preacher in the land.
Gracious nature, graceful art,
Wove for him their blended crown;
He could bless with brimming heart,
He could call God's thunder down.
Wove for him their blended crown;
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He could call God's thunder down.
Bitter woes of humankind!
Sin and sorrow, grief and wrong,
Was he to your beckoning blind?
Did he slight you in his song?
Sin and sorrow, grief and wrong,
Was he to your beckoning blind?
Did he slight you in his song?
And the mystic things of God
That we dimly apprehend,
Did he tread them, roughly shod,
Shatter beauties without end?
That we dimly apprehend,
Did he tread them, roughly shod,
Shatter beauties without end?
No, those treasures dearly bought
Are beyond the reach of fate;
They are builded in our thought,
They are welded in our state.
Are beyond the reach of fate;
They are builded in our thought,
They are welded in our state.
On the solemn judgment mount
He methinks may fearless stand,
For the final, dread account,
With his record in his hand.
He methinks may fearless stand,
For the final, dread account,
With his record in his hand.
A great army would attest
The true succor that he gave
To the poor God loveth best,
To the woman, to the slave!
The true succor that he gave
To the poor God loveth best,
To the woman, to the slave!
He once more may fitly pray
If a prayer can sound in heaven:
“Be God's help to me this day,
As the help that I have given.”
If a prayer can sound in heaven:
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As the help that I have given.”
I remember well the thrill
Multitudes were glad to share
When the solemn aisles did fill
With the music of his prayer;
Multitudes were glad to share
When the solemn aisles did fill
With the music of his prayer;
With his sermon wisely planned,
Reasoned with a master's might;
Faith's illuminating hand
Touched its sentences with light.
Reasoned with a master's might;
Faith's illuminating hand
Touched its sentences with light.
That we had him is a boon
That commands a song of praise;
That we lose him oversoon
Is a grief for all our days.
That commands a song of praise;
That we lose him oversoon
Is a grief for all our days.
| From Sunset Ridge | |