 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
231
VISION OF THE INFANT ST. JOHN.
My soul took wing, and hovered round
The distant scenes—the hallowed ground,
Where once the King of Heaven was found
A form of earth to wear:
The woes he bore, the love he taught,
The death he slew, the life he brought,
In one o'erwhelming flood of thought,
Rolled on, and bowed me there.
The distant scenes—the hallowed ground,
Where once the King of Heaven was found
A form of earth to wear:
The woes he bore, the love he taught,
The death he slew, the life he brought,
In one o'erwhelming flood of thought,
Rolled on, and bowed me there.
I walked the groves of Galilee;
I stood in spirit by the sea,
And mused of him, here called to be
My Saviour's bosom-friend;—
Of him, who gave among the few,
Who followed Christ, the flower and dew
Of life to him;—of things he knew,
And wrought, and saw, and penned.
I stood in spirit by the sea,
And mused of him, here called to be
My Saviour's bosom-friend;—
Of him, who gave among the few,
Who followed Christ, the flower and dew
Of life to him;—of things he knew,
And wrought, and saw, and penned.
These glorious wonders pondering o'er,
I searched the past for something more,
As round that now deserted shore,
My solemn fancy roved.
Her eye grew curious, there to trace
The lineaments of peace and grace
That marked the bud—the infant face
Of him, “whom Jesus loved.”
I searched the past for something more,
As round that now deserted shore,
My solemn fancy roved.
Her eye grew curious, there to trace
The lineaments of peace and grace
That marked the bud—the infant face
Of him, “whom Jesus loved.”
232
When, lo! a lovely vision smiled
Before me, in a beauteous child,
With aspect sweet—with eye so mild,
So deep, so heavenly bright,
The spirit seemed, with beams divine,
To kindle up and fill the shrine,
As through a dew-drop clear, will shine
A ray of morning light.
Before me, in a beauteous child,
With aspect sweet—with eye so mild,
So deep, so heavenly bright,
The spirit seemed, with beams divine,
To kindle up and fill the shrine,
As through a dew-drop clear, will shine
A ray of morning light.
His tender foot, that on the strand,
Shone like a lily of the land,
Unsullied 'mid the sparkling sand,
The falling wave had met.
His garb was like a fisher's vest;
And closely to his little breast,
A scroll by one soft hand was pressed;
The other dropped a net.
Shone like a lily of the land,
Unsullied 'mid the sparkling sand,
The falling wave had met.
His garb was like a fisher's vest;
And closely to his little breast,
A scroll by one soft hand was pressed;
The other dropped a net.
The smile, upon his features thrown,
Seemed of a bliss to earth unknown;
As if a purer world had shown
Its glories to his soul.
He cast around an earnest eye,
As if some coming friend were nigh,
With words of meaning deep and high,
To treasure in that scroll.
Seemed of a bliss to earth unknown;
As if a purer world had shown
Its glories to his soul.
He cast around an earnest eye,
As if some coming friend were nigh,
With words of meaning deep and high,
To treasure in that scroll.
Sweet odors from the mountain air
Streamed through his locks of silken hair,
And bathed his brow serene and fair,
As looking from the sea,
To paths that wound o'er vale and height,
He saw a Lamb, all snowy white;
And following him with quick delight,
Was gone, and lost to me.
Streamed through his locks of silken hair,
And bathed his brow serene and fair,
As looking from the sea,
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He saw a Lamb, all snowy white;
And following him with quick delight,
Was gone, and lost to me.
Though rude my lines, my colors faint,
And faithless here, my hand to paint
The beauties of that infant saint,
Which there my vision blessed,—
I know it was the fisher's son,
By whom such mighty works were done—
That gentle, true, beloved one,
“Who leaned on Jesus' breast!”
And faithless here, my hand to paint
The beauties of that infant saint,
Which there my vision blessed,—
I know it was the fisher's son,
By whom such mighty works were done—
That gentle, true, beloved one,
“Who leaned on Jesus' breast!”
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |