The new minnesinger and other poems By Arran Leigh [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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CHRIST'S CONTINUED MINISTRY.
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 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
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CHRIST'S CONTINUED MINISTRY.
If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.
—1 Corinthians xv. 19.
Dear Lord, and wilt thou nevermore thy service lone resign?
The fire of coals thy hands must make by which thy children dine,
And e'en within the Father's house sweet ministry is thine.
The fire of coals thy hands must make by which thy children dine,
And e'en within the Father's house sweet ministry is thine.
Thou restest not, how canst thou rest? thine own are far from Thee:
The mother's eyes must weep and watch the children on the sea;
The thought of the Good Shepherd's heart with the foldless lambs must be
The mother's eyes must weep and watch the children on the sea;
The thought of the Good Shepherd's heart with the foldless lambs must be
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Within thy Father's house for us Thou seekest to prepare
Some earthly, homely touches, lest it show too dazzling fair
For eyes, but newly-wip'd from tears, for human eyes to bear.
Some earthly, homely touches, lest it show too dazzling fair
For eyes, but newly-wip'd from tears, for human eyes to bear.
Thou know'st our hope in Thee is not for this poor life alone,
It must lead us to the vanish'd, to the long'd for, the unknown,
The golden fruitage of the seed in blinding sorrow sown.
It must lead us to the vanish'd, to the long'd for, the unknown,
The golden fruitage of the seed in blinding sorrow sown.
We dare look on to Death's beyond unshudd'ringly for this,—
That Thou wilt teach us how to bear the unfamiliar bliss
When faces, glory-grown, stoop down our saintless lips to kiss.
That Thou wilt teach us how to bear the unfamiliar bliss
When faces, glory-grown, stoop down our saintless lips to kiss.
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When earth's memories are about us, but on their brows instead
New records of a lonely past that we have never read;
And, looking up to them, we feel how long we have been dead.
New records of a lonely past that we have never read;
And, looking up to them, we feel how long we have been dead.
Lord, in that dearth and loneliness, that pain of all things new,
Come to us Thou whose feet have trod our whole long journey through,
Take our forgotten years, and mould our future thereunto.
Come to us Thou whose feet have trod our whole long journey through,
Take our forgotten years, and mould our future thereunto.
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