 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
THE LAND OF REST.
I saw an old old man—his eye,
Though sunk, was beaming bright,
As the deep azure of the sky,
With more than mortal light.
Though sunk, was beaming bright,
As the deep azure of the sky,
With more than mortal light.
Yet life's enchanted cup was drain'd,
And life's last sands fell fast,
And friends were gone, and he remain'd—
Of all he loved—the last.
And life's last sands fell fast,
And friends were gone, and he remain'd—
Of all he loved—the last.
Why then, 'mid weariness and woe,
That heavenly smile impress'd?
Because he was a pilgrim to—
And near the Land of Rest.
That heavenly smile impress'd?
Because he was a pilgrim to—
And near the Land of Rest.
I saw a youth of manly mould
Upon a sick bed lying;
His cheek was pale, his hand was cold,
For he, poor youth, was dying.
Upon a sick bed lying;
His cheek was pale, his hand was cold,
For he, poor youth, was dying.
Yet on that cheek was seen to glow
A sweet and gentle smile,
Like sunbeam on the mountain snow
Which melts away the while.
A sweet and gentle smile,
Like sunbeam on the mountain snow
Which melts away the while.
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And wherefore did he smile to leave
The friends who were so dear?
And wherefore did he see them grieve,
Nor answer with a tear?
The friends who were so dear?
And wherefore did he see them grieve,
Nor answer with a tear?
And why, since life was in its spring,
Fresh as the morning dew—
Since hope with honey'd hand might bring
New joys and pleasures new,
Fresh as the morning dew—
Since hope with honey'd hand might bring
New joys and pleasures new,
Why was he pleased to part with all
Those visions bright and sweet,
At life's fast fleeting festival,
With friends no more to meet?
Those visions bright and sweet,
At life's fast fleeting festival,
With friends no more to meet?
Far brighter hopes were given to be
A comfort to his breast;
His friends were journeying to—and he
Was near the Land of Rest.
A comfort to his breast;
His friends were journeying to—and he
Was near the Land of Rest.
I saw a maiden, modest, mild,
In beauty's sunny morn—
Simplicity's own darling child,
Of sainted mother born.
In beauty's sunny morn—
Simplicity's own darling child,
Of sainted mother born.
Brothers and sisters by her side,
A lovely flower she grew,
And still it was her family's pride
To have her in their view.
A lovely flower she grew,
And still it was her family's pride
To have her in their view.
And she was happy, young, and good,
Beloved, and loving well,
Fitted alike in solitude
Or social scenes to dwell.
Beloved, and loving well,
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Or social scenes to dwell.
But ah! a chill came o'er her cheek,
Which blanched its rosy charms;
And yet she seem'd, though maiden weak,
To feel no dire alarms.
Which blanched its rosy charms;
And yet she seem'd, though maiden weak,
To feel no dire alarms.
Consumption slowly stole away
That cheek's enchanting dye,
But still a soul which scorn'd decay
Beam'd in her kindled eye.
That cheek's enchanting dye,
But still a soul which scorn'd decay
Beam'd in her kindled eye.
And why was she content to part
With all the joys of earth—
The youth who won her gentle heart,
The dame who gave her birth,
With all the joys of earth—
The youth who won her gentle heart,
The dame who gave her birth,
The brothers who endear'd her bower,
The sire who soothed her care,
The sisters who, at evening hour,
Had join'd with her in prayer?
The sire who soothed her care,
The sisters who, at evening hour,
Had join'd with her in prayer?
These stood around her dying bed
To watch her closing eye;
They saw her smile, when speech had fled,
And death was drawing nigh.
To watch her closing eye;
They saw her smile, when speech had fled,
And death was drawing nigh.
In that dread hour, how could she smile,
By the grim tyrant press'd?
Her soul had caught a glimpse the while
Of the bless'd Land of Rest.
By the grim tyrant press'd?
Her soul had caught a glimpse the while
Of the bless'd Land of Rest.
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I saw a mother bound to earth
By ties which none may know,
Save those who feel their children's mirth,
And share their children's woe.
By ties which none may know,
Save those who feel their children's mirth,
And share their children's woe.
Around her play'd an infant band,
And one sweet baby hung
Upon her breast, and with its hand
Her floating tresses wrung.
And one sweet baby hung
Upon her breast, and with its hand
Her floating tresses wrung.
And in its mother's fading face
So winningly it smiled,
That angels might have paused a space
To gaze upon that child.
So winningly it smiled,
That angels might have paused a space
To gaze upon that child.
But she who gave that baby birth
Appear'd about to go
From smiles of love, and hopes of earth,
To the dark world below.
Appear'd about to go
From smiles of love, and hopes of earth,
To the dark world below.
And then she wept—that mother wept
From her fond babes to part;
And oft she watch'd them while they slept,
With sad and yearning heart.
From her fond babes to part;
And oft she watch'd them while they slept,
With sad and yearning heart.
But as the dreaded hour drew nigh,
And paler grew her cheek,
A dawning brightness in her eye
Extatic thoughts would speak.
And paler grew her cheek,
A dawning brightness in her eye
Extatic thoughts would speak.
She cast each helpless innocent
On a Guardian strong to save,
And welcomed the dark message, sent
To summon to the grave.
On a Guardian strong to save,
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To summon to the grave.
How could she part from babes so sweet,
So tenderly caress'd?
Because she hoped with them to meet
In the bless'd Land of Rest.
So tenderly caress'd?
Because she hoped with them to meet
In the bless'd Land of Rest.
And with a soul sedate she pour'd
Her parting prayer to Heaven,
And trusted to heaven's gracious Lord
The gifts which he had given.
Her parting prayer to Heaven,
And trusted to heaven's gracious Lord
The gifts which he had given.
And one by one her children dear
She bless'd with tender care,
Then pass'd, without a sob or tear,
To rest for ever there.
She bless'd with tender care,
Then pass'd, without a sob or tear,
To rest for ever there.
All these had triumph'd through the flame
Of heavenly love, impress'd
By Him who died to buy for them
That blessed Land of Rest.
Of heavenly love, impress'd
By Him who died to buy for them
That blessed Land of Rest.
And thus the simple power of faith
O'ermasters fear and woe;
And, conquering the dread tyrant death,
Conquers our latest foe!
O'ermasters fear and woe;
And, conquering the dread tyrant death,
Conquers our latest foe!
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |