The Prisoner of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

“They could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter: . . . What shall we drink? . . . And the Lord shewed him a tree, . . . the waters were made sweet.”— Exod. xv. 23–25.

They stand together side by side
As they for ever thus have stood,
The bitter and the cleansing tide
In blessèd mystic brotherhood;
And he that taketh of the sweet,
First in the other washed his feet.

We would leave Marah by the way
And lose the healing fount of tears,
But none may serve his little day
Who hath not been baptized in fears;
And would we miss the dreadful cup,
When Christ in Mercy holds it up?

Siloam could not seem so dear
Nor be so beautiful to drink,
Had Marah not been always near
And we not tasted at its brink;
The life would lack its very breath,
Did we not enter it by death.

O precious Saviour, Thou art still
Our Portion—we will have no less;
A saving Presence from each ill,
A wellspring in the wilderness;
With Thee we rise through Marah's grave,
To win Siloam's quickening wave.

383

December 2 THE ALABASTER BOX

“She hath done what she could.”—St. Mark xiv. 8.

She hath done what she could! And for the Master
Who granteth power to live and die,
She broke the box of alabaster
Which bound her to Him with a dearer tie;
But ere she gave it first her heart was broken
With sorrow for her past of sin,
And love more deep because unspoken
That He might set His vaster Love therein;
And thence the sweetness of that far-off fragrance
Hath filled the earth and every breast,
And stayed the act of lawless vagrance
In the calm Sabbath of eternal rest.

She hath done what she could! And so the pittance
Once offered with the widow's mite,
Still for all treasure was acquittance
And in its faith a fulness infinite;
She could not render more, who grudged God nothing
But poured her living at His feet,
And with her worship's pure white clothing
Arrayed the One whom she had come to meet;
She would deal nothing less, though that were little—
Too petty for a pauper's dole,
And she a vessel vile and brittle—
But yet it was her universe, her whole.

384

December 3 A CUP OF WATER

“Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only . . . shall in no wise lose his reward.” —St. Matt. x. 42.

She hath done what she could! And he that giveth
A cup of water to a child
For Jesus who in weakness liveth,
To Him is thus all sweetly reconciled;
And when he takes the burden of another
To be his own abiding guest,
He pays the service of the Brother
Who taught us how to sacrifice our best;
For all that sheds a ray on mortal blindness
Or smooths some weary pathway trod,
Is one more stone of human kindness,
And goes to build the Temple of our God.

She hath done what she could! And I for ever
May make no lower standard mine,
In goodly work or great endeavour
That lifts the meanest task to tops Divine;
I cannot keep back ought from Him who squanders
The riches of His Love on me,
And when my faithless footstep wanders
And stumbles it with His will closer be;
I only mete Him back what first He measured
To one who suffered many a fall,
And got from Him the wealth untreasured—
It may be little, yet it must be all.

385

December 4 EXEAT

“He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.”—Job vii. 10.

Would I recall it, if I might,
Who travail in this house of flesh
And suffer much and sin afresh,
Though toiling upward to the Light?
Would I, a rebel, grieve thereat,
And honour not with willing choice
The sentence of the Master's Voice,
That gives a schoolboy's Exeat?

Nay, if I could undo the call,
Which summons me at length to go
And leave my prison of clay below,
I would not be again its thrall.
Why should I tarry in a bond,
When round me rise more loving claims
With lasting links and higher aims
And the blue sky of Peace beyond?

I do not know my lesson now,
And there are deeper truths to learn
For which in better moods I yearn,
Yet to God's will I humbly bow.
Though others sit where once I sat
And time has been a wasted tool,
I am a pupil freed from school
And hail with joy my Exeat.

386

December 5 HOME-SICKNESS

“They that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country—i.e. native country or home.”—Heb. xi. 14.

I often wonder at the greatness
Thrust on me from the very first,
The sense of God's own grand sedateness
And powers that through my weakness burst;
The passion of an upward movement
Which rises on things dead and gone,
Through bitter lapse and blest improvement
For ever and for ever on.

I feel at work the pure Refiner
Within who moulds me by the flame,
To something vaster and diviner,
Above the shadow of a shame;
And yet it is no alien splendour
Which always just before me lies.
And nothing good I need surrender
In leaving earth to scale the skies.

It's but the law of my own being
Which lifts me forward and on high,
By trust which is more true than seeing
And draws the Infinite so nigh;
Ah, with a conscious heaven-born quickness
I turn to the Eternal Love,
Led on as by a sure Home-sickness
Unto my native land above.

387

December 6 TIMES OF VISITATION

“If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace.”—St. Luke xix. 42.

If thou hadst known, before it was too late
In this thy golden time,
And seen the Blessèd Porter at the gate
Or heard the Heavenly chime;
If thou hadst known, one hour of visioned youth
Had been enough to lead
Thy devious footsteps to the tops of Truth,
Which blindness well might read.

But now each lost day like some damning sin
Which never more may fade,
Throws on the better years which would begin
Their own accusing shade;
All, all my life seems burdened by the Past
And poisoned with its guilt,
On whose foundations though with prayer and fast
The branded whole is built.

If thou hadst known—my Lord, Thou knowest now
The frailty of my flesh,
Each light resolve, each lapse or broken vow
Dead ere full-formed afresh;
But though no mortal work can wash the stain
And neither fire nor flood,
Yet in each effort Christ is born again
And offers still His Blood.

388

December 7 NO SEPARATION

“I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, . . . shall be able to separate us from the love of God . . . in Christ Jesus.” —Rom. viii. 38, 39.

Deem not, I can ever be too far
From thy one least sin or sorrow;
Nearer than the light is to the star—
Than the day is to the morrow,
I am unto thee in every care
Which I will remove at once or share.

Deem not that I sometimes hide My Face
Out of wrath from thee in darkness,
Or there are within My Love's embrace
Desert breadths of stony starkness;
It is always Bethel and the way,
For the soul that steps apart to pray.

Deem not thy petitions are unknown
Or unheard by Me till uttered,
When thy right request was first My own
Ere it in thy bosom fluttered;
It was I who gently led thee back,
From the error to the truer track.

Deem not that I ever can forget,
For a greater task or other,
Thee with all My mercies so beset—
Thou art Mine, and I thy Brother;
Loss to-day shall be to-morrow's gain,
Joy that dies is but reborn by pain.

389

December 8 WINTER

“When thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees . . . thou shalt bestir thyself: for then shall the Lord go out before thee.”—2 Sam. v. 24.

The elms are bowing in the wind,
But they are bowing, Lord, to Thee;
We think them stupid stocks and blind,
And yet they also serve and see;
Yea, in the blasts of wintry weather,
They know Thy Name and kneel together.

O as we watch them wildly sway
Their branches reach out giant hands,
As if they only ask to pray
And worship doing Thy commands;
Stript of their foliage greens and glosses,
Their stems stand up like Calvary crosses.

Father, they teach me that Thine earth
With all upon it holds and hangs,
Alike the altar and the hearth,
By one dread Tree and Jesu's pangs;
Life had not learnt memento mori,
But for that Shadow and its glory.

Ages before the birth of man
The precious Lamb of God was slain,
In His decree, and Time began
But with the foretaste of Christ's pain;
And, in the acts of dumb creation,
We find rehearsed our one Salvation.

390

December 9 EVENING

“And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it.”—Rev. xxi. 23.

Evening falls, the sun hath set,
Dew lies on the grassy ground;
But my Sun is shining yet,
In the heart and all around.
He, who to me is akin
More than man, gives light within.

Evening falls, the blossoms close,
Every little star that shone,
But not with them Sharon's Rose
Which through shadow shineth on;
And the fragrance of His Love
Draws my soul to Him above.

Evening falls, but glories rise
Better than the gleams that fade,
Open on me other skies
By a brighter Presence made;
All the earth becomes a cup,
Whence sweet incense goeth up.

Evening falls, but Heaven stoops down
And adjusts its step to mine,
Shrinks the grandeur of its crown
To the head that grows Divine;
Ah, and from the prayerful heart
Morning never can depart.

391

December 10 TO-MORROW

“Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will . . . Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow.”— St. James iv. 13, 14.

To-morrow shall my hand repair
The breaches in this house of dust,
When doubt is growing to despair
And I have nought whereon to trust?

To-morrow, did the Master say,
Come to me or whene'er thou wilt,
And do not trouble if to-day
Is burdened by a crushing guilt?

To-morrow shall I ask for grief
The comfort which is offered now,
Or take for sickness the relief
Which then no Mercy may allow?

To-morrow shall I fly the doom
Which overshadows all my way,
And breeds within a greater gloom,
When pardon comes to me to-day?

To-morrow shall I hope for life
When death is knocking at my heart,
And earth and heaven itself seem rife
With judgment that will not depart?

To-morrow shall I take the Hand
Outstretched to be my strength and stay,
And then wash off the bitter brand
When Love were cleansing me to-day?

392

December 11 GOD'S LEADING

“Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which Thou hast redeemed.”—Exod. xv. 13.

Thou leddest me, dear Father, long
Through many an evil storm and stress,
Yet always gavest me a song
Within the night or wilderness;
Yea, though I turned aside in doubt
And chose a less and lower part,
I could not shut entirely out
Thy secret music in my heart.

Thou leddest me by weary wastes
And up steep mounts that sternly rose,
To teach me thus sublimer tastes
And find some fountain at the close;
Even if I followed Thee from far
Or tried to break from Mercy free,
Still shone Thy Love a guiding star,
To bring me to myself and Thee.

Thou leddest me by distant climes
And devious roads that grew more dread,
Unto the broader and better times
Which all those years I vainly fled;
I cannot wander where I come,
I cannot from Thy judgment hide,
Except to Thee, my God and Home—
Except within Thy broken Side.

393

December 12 WAITING

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.”— Isa. xl. 31.

“Sit still, my daughter.”—Ruth iii. 18.

Sister, thy lot more hardly falls
Than that of those within the fight,
To hear the tumult at the walls
And catch fierce glimpses as through night;
To know the awful power of sin,
The passion and the glittering bait,
But yet while eager to rush in
The strife to stand aside and wait.

Sister, it is not only deeds
Wrought in the battle which will count,
And sow for men immortal seeds
To swell God's truths and sweet amount;
There is no weapon forged by man,
Like Love, that though with trembling gait
Works gently out the Eternal Plan,
And is content to watch and wait.

Sister, thy prayers are precious too,
Thy kind thoughts help the Kingdom on,
They work what nothing else can do
And shake the walls of Babylon;
Thy quiet unseen toil is more
Than that which struggles through the strait
And storms to reach the farther shore—
Eternity can trust and wait.

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December 13 SONGS IN THE NIGHT

“God my maker, who giveth songs in the night.”— Job xxxv. 10.

Come to me, Jesus, in the night
Of sickness, when my thoughts forsake
Their earthly paths and seek the Sight,
That opens but when hearts awake;
Now while I feel the sinking flesh
I will lie very meek and still,
To be in Mercy born afresh
And take the moulding of Thy Will.

The lesson may be hard to learn,
I only am a child and small,
But greater Truth for which I yearn
Cometh by pain or not at all;
I will lay down my foolish pride
And lean but on Thy Holy Name,
If Thou art standing at my side—
Though Thy best teaching be through flame.

Come to me, Jesus, hold me now,
I rest within Thy loving Hands,
Thy Cross I bear upon this brow
And on my heart write Thy commands;
Till I have found Thy quickening touch,
And, in the vision more than sight,
The shadow which I feared so much
Is but the shadow of Thy Light.

395

December 14 GRACE OF SIMPLICITY

“And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come.”—Rev. xxii. 17.

Here at the utter end of all
I stand and commune with my heart,
Alone yet not alone;
But with the Brother, who took part
In every act and broke each fall;
Whom I now, with the dying year
As at its birth in faithful fear,
In thought and will enthrone.

This the great lesson I have learned
From toil and trouble and sweet pain,
How blest simplicity;
The little joys, the lowly gain,
The look that as the sunlight turned
In instant choice to cheer a friend,
The love that would with sorrow bend—
These live eternally.

It was the Holy Child in me,
The Christ for ever there reborn,
That raised my humble wings;
He breathed, into the lot forlorn,
The Spirit that made my service free;
And His the glory, for He gave
Blessing and beauty through the grave,
Grander than crowns of kings.

396

December 15 TREASURES OF THE SNOW

“Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow?”— Job xxxviii. 22.

“Of purer eyes than to behold evil.”—Hab. i. 13.

God scatters freely many a gift,
His Grace no measure hath or marge;
One's vision sees the bright blue rift
Above, while others walk in night;
One hears the awful solemn charge,
To lead an erring nation right.
But to the favoured few below,
God gives His treasures of the snow.

Some let their unkind glances scan
The blots that should have love's defence,
And only blame the wrong in man;
These, working God's most Holy Will,
Are clothèd with the innocence
That knoweth yet would hide the ill.
Ah, for His Blest no outward show
God gives, but hearts of virgin snow.

They are so full of pity's power
And a most Christlike sympathy,
They guess behind the thorns the flower
And under barren lives good seeds;
They have the true Divinity,
Finding in all their own pure deeds;
For such, to nought but evil slow,
God keeps His treasures of the snow.

397

December 16 ALONE WITH GOD

“I am not alone, but I and the Father.”—St. John viii. 16.

Alone with God—
The shadows fell away,
The masks and fig-leaves of this mortal dress
With all the rags of false self-righteousness
Beneath His rod.
My good deeds seemed but growth of mere decay,
And I had nothing left but nakedness
To cheat the death which it could not delay.
My soul failed fluttering,
Like some wounded thing,
Which lifts to Heaven its uttering
On a broken wing.

Alone with God—
The mountains were a mist,
Dissolving at His Presence and His Power;
The storm lay still and low; trembling, the tower
Appeared to nod,
Just by the lurid sunset caught and kiss'd.
Then from the silence, as it broke in flower
With sweet half-lights of rose and amethyst,
Soft as snow driven
By a summer wind—
A Voice, “Thou art forgiven
Who hast greatly sinned.”

398

December 17 THE WAY HOME

“O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.”—Jer. x. 23.

I murmured at the cruel dart,
And saw the grievous sin;
Though wounds, which broke my bleeding heart,
Had let the Saviour in.

But He stood there, and knocking loud
And knocking sometimes low;
But, ah, my spirit was too proud
To heed each loving blow.

But on He went and kindly wrought
With me and waited long,
Till suffering turned to holy thought
And made me wisely strong.

So now when trials dawn, I kneel
And thank Him very much,
For then I blossom out and feel
The Mercy of His touch.

But had I never learned to bear
The burden or the shame,
I were unshriven and could not wear
As mine His Blessèd Name.

And though for sorrows none would ask
I know, whene'er they come,
They angels are to share my task,
And draw me sweetly Home.

399

December 18 PATIENCE

“The trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”—St. James i. 3, 4.

I am content to watch and wait
For the unfolding of God's Will,
And in the storm or iron strait
To worship and be still.

How can I doubt His larger law,
And wisdom with its perfect sight?
I know the shadow and the awe
Are but o'erwhelming Light.

Why should I fear a moment space,
When Christ is nearer far than thought,
And I can look into that Face
That shines on me unsought?

It is enough to be assured,
He will not once deny His debt;
The promise, which has long endured
He may not now forget.

So, in His season, shall I find
His blessèd Truth established more;
Seeing that Love was all behind,
And all is Love before.

Then that repose which comes at last,
Even in the darkness before dawn
When skies are deepest overcast,
And will not be withdrawn.

400

December 19 SWEET BELLS

“In that day shall there be upon the bells of the horses, HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD.”—Zech. xiv. 20.

Sweet bells are ringing
And voices singing
In many a calm and cloistered place,
The message that is ever new.
And they that look in Jesu's face,
Know that Love droppeth like the dew;
The promise vernal
Of life Eternal,
Which gathers all in its embrace,
But seals for service high the few.

The shades are falling,
Worship is calling
The many from their labours long
For prayer and praise, that offer up
To crownèd Love serence and strong
Outpourings of the heart's own cup.
With heaven's they mingle,
Where joy is single
And Matins one with Evensong,
When souls at last with angels sup.

Sweet bells, in whispers,
Like secret vespers
Ring on within the grateful Word
Which makes and keeps us always young,
While we by living truths are stirr'd

401

As if by choirs celestial sung.
And may their measures
Abide our treasures,
Till the low parting prayer is heard
And the last evening bell is rung.

402

December 20 A SONG OF SLOW DEGREES

“Line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little.”—Isa. xxviii. 10.

I often cannot choose but weep
To think my purpose is so brittle,
And I a watchman sometimes sleep
At duty's post and learn so little;
When Jesus, in His risen Power,
Says, “Brother, watch with Me an hour.”

I do but darkly what I ought
Or when he calls me dumbly follow,
And in my highest act or thought
I feel the richest fruit is hollow.
My feet go stumbling after Him,
And even my brightest hopes are dim.

The breastplate He has given is strong,
Harmless the bolts upon it rattle;
But yet I find the lesson long,
Though mine the prize and His the battle.
For He has done the cruel task,
And offers more than I can ask.

But, ah, I know His heavenly way
Is line on line, by jot and tittle;
Yea, if I loiter He will stay
To guide me step by step though little.
For in my blindness still he sees,
And tunes my song of slow degrees.

403

December 21 SEEDS OF GRACE

“By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.”—Eph. ii. 8.

Thus is Christ sowing in me seeds
Of grace, that I may plead with brothers;
This yet shall flower in faithful deeds,
And bear a harvest ripe for others.
He will not show the timid shoots,
Till in him centre all my roots.

Earth is a picture, fair and bright
Now, though it passed through dreadful stages;
Æons of shadows wrought our light,
And this green vesture grew from ages.
Grim centuries of fire and flood,
Went to shape forth one shining bud.

And He, who makes celestial blue
Of dust by dazzling transformation,
Will to my tardy work be true—
Though long He digs the deep foundation.
No prayers were wasted in my past,
To build God's temple that shall last.

And now I alway smile through tears,
For while my staff is poor and brittle
Yet He is stronger than my fears
And greatest when my love is little.
If hard the pathway be to trace,
I look up closer in His Face.

404

December 22 IN THE SHADOW OF CHRIST

“And immediately the ship was at the land whither they went.”—St. John vi. 21.

Dear Saviour, I am wearied sore
And now to Thee I lowly come,
As a spent wavelet to the shore
Which though it falleth finds a home;
I win, but by a broken heart,
The peace that never will depart.

I cannot journey farther on
Unless on Thy great love I lie,
And we remain in Babylon
Till in Thy quickening grave we die;
Ah, I am only risen and free,
When laid in burial low with Thee.

Take me and in Thy Presence hide,
As Nature doth in its green dress
The wounded things that seek its side
And gather to its graciousness;
Lift up a corner of that robe,
To cover me as all the globe.

The evening is Thy shadow, Lord,
And seems the veil upon that Light
Which were as dreadful as a sword,
If we beheld the perfect sight;
And those, that in the shadow rest,
Are gently cradled by Thy Breast.

405

December 23 THE DOOR AJAR

“And the Lord shut him in.”—Gen. vii. 16.

“Behold, a door was opened in heaven.”—Rev. iv. 1.

God came to me, a Father still,
But not in sunny shine;
And laid His loving rod, in ill,
On me for discipline.
He shut me in to shadow long,
It seemed a prison dark;
But even in night he gave a song,
The prison it was His Ark.

God spoke to me in solemn wise,
And bade me follow Him
Up rugged stairs that did arise
Each step an anguish dim.
He put a cross into my hand
And purgèd me from chaff,
But as I trod that lonely land
The cross became a staff.

God guides me yet His heavenly way,
Mysterious, strait, and steep;
But I have always room to pray,
And precious tears to weep.
For still he often walls me round
With many a pain and bar,
But when I reach the bitterest bound
I find the door ajar.

406

December 24 HEAVEN AND HOME

“If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”—St. John xiv. 23.

Heaven was to all at first a dream,
The shadow of a shining vision,
Which lured us with a distant gleam
And yet when grasped proved but derision;
Until the Christ came down to say,
That Heaven was here—not far away.

He told us of His Father's Love
And many-mansioned House of Glory,
Till the below seemed the above
And Heaven at most earth's upper storey,
As if it only were God's Face,
That made a Heaven of every place.

He said that all who lovèd much
Would find a happy Heaven in Duty,
And those that owned the human touch
Of brotherhood walked in its beauty;
And if the Father made its worth,
The earth was Heaven and Heaven was earth.

And thus both worlds are really one,
There is no wall of separation,
And something dared or service done
Gives unto each its consecration,
For, since the Blessèd Christ has come,
Now Home is Heaven, and Heaven is Home.

407

December 25 MORE OF CHRIST

“Till we all come . . . unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.”—Eph. iv. 13.

More of Thy Sweetness, Jesus, grant
To us who truly know Thy Name,
But feel the sacred oil is scant
And burneth with a feeble flame.
We want its perfume and its power
To bathe our souls, like God's caress;
And overflow the life, and flower
In acts of gentle Christliness.

More of Thy Fulness, Jesus, give
The servants who would follow near,
Not by a worship fugitive
Nor with a casual sigh and tear.
Look on these little hearts and take
For precious use and parts Divine,
And fashion them for thee and make
Larger with blessèd discipline.

More of Thy Spirit, Jesus, mete
To all by worldly cares opprest;
That in Thy Peace and Joy complete,
Each wrong may grandly be redrest.
And let us only breathe Thy Grace
In whatsoe'er we do or seem,
Until the brightness of each face
Reflects the Love that did redeem.

408

December 26 THE BALANCE OF THINGS

“We know that all things work together for good.”— Rom. viii. 28.

I must believe that all is right
And God was ever good and just
To every one, nor can the night
A moment shake my rooted trust.
And though the surface is not clear
It is a surface and no more,
And if unfairness will appear
It doth not touch Creation's core.

I will believe, that for the best
The whole is ordered, and each part
Hath travailed in the Father's Breast
And cometh from His Broken Heart;
Whereby it gives to us the breath
Of beauty and the joy of strife,
And shall not perish even in death
Nor is embodied all in life.

I do believe, that in the End,
However this may fall or be,
Our Father will be proved our Friend
And with Eternal Truth agree.
While in the lowest place or loss,
If fortune is most brief or pent,
Yet whether by a crown or cross
Each hath his self-development.

409

December 27 QUO VADIS, DOMINE?

“Master, where dwellest thou . . . Come and see.”— St. John i. 38, 39.

It was nigh morning
And the grey glimmer of a sea of pearls,
When the great flag of darkness slowly furls,
And earth's adorning
Looks like the moonrise on a maiden's curls;
Who walks a Vestal
Forth from the gateways of some conquered sin
And vices festal,
And keeps like life the sacred fire within
And knows that only God is now akin.
Yet was I flying,
From the Lord's trust and Love and glorious dying.

Betwixt the gleaming
And gloom that faded back in sullen pride
With rolling waves of a reluctant tide,
But not in dreaming,
I was aware of Some One at my side.
An awful shimmer
Broke on the shadows of my faithless way;
The world waxed dimmer
Beneath another Light and better Day,
And the soft wind ceased from its prattling play;
A sudden vision,
Fell on my heart, that loathed its base decision.

410

And then the calling
Of my most beautiful and Blessèd Lord
Fell on mine ears, and touched a tender chord
With holy thralling—
And through my soul cut anguish like a sword.
For He had trusted
These hands to hold a precious charge for Him,
Not as I lusted;
Though in the swelling waters I might swim,
Or see new terrors waxing close and grim.
Yet at the trial,
I shrank in shame and offered but denial.

411

December 28 VADO AD CRUCEM

“And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called . . . Golgotha.”—St. John xix. 17.

No word was spoken,
But I had felt that still and piercing cry
Make in my heart a heaven of ecstasy,
His Presence token,
Which bathed me as in all eternity.
I answered dumbly,
“Quo vadis, Domine?” I only said,
And hearkened humbly
For that sweet Voice which was my inmost aid
And used to bid me serve nor be afraid.
“Vado labore,
Pro te et iterum in Cruce mori.”

At last I lifted
My prostrate brow to that most lovely Face,
I saw the cloud that had eclipsed His Grace
Was rent and rifted,
And in His sufferings I had found a place.
But that new being
Which His own Sorrow breathed into my breast
Was more than seeing
And made me with His knowledge brave and blest,
As though I shared the everlasting Rest.
By that strange giving
He drew aside the veil, and death was living.

412

December 29 GOD AND THE HARVEST

“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.” —1 Cor. iii. 6.

Hast thou, dear brother, toiled through many years
And seen no fruits, though thou hast freely sown
Thy life in labour and with watchful tears
Watered the soil yet none the richer grown?
Remember that the reaping is God's own,
And He can gather even of doubts and fears;
We only plough and plant our little field—
He is our Harvest, and His Love the yield.

Be sure, no kindly word or work may fail
To leave a blessing, if we know it not
And our poor efforts often err and ail,
While nothing that we do is without spot;
Christ stands Yoke-fellow, in the lowliest lot;
He is the light, and prayers at last prevail;
And, should thy service seem a wasted part,
It still shall blossom in some happier heart.

Not ours to finish tasks or seek the sight
Of precious increase and the praise of man,
But just to scatter seed in nature's night
And leave with God the issue of His plan;
He will complete what He in Grace began,
And order even thine errors all aright.
Thou wert well paid, whatever clouds do come,
If thou hast helped one wandering sinner Home.

413

December 30 WHO GOES HOME?

“Here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come.”— Heb. xiii. 14.

Traveller, traveller, whither bound
On the journey thou dost tread?
Every clod is heavenly ground,
Or a graveyard of the dead;
As thou makest it by deed
Charnel roof or Church's dome,
Bleaching bones or blessèd seed—
Who goes Home?

Traveller, traveller, each new stage
Takes thee nearer to the close
Of thy mortal pilgrimage—
Dust of doom or Sharon's Rose;
Each new step is something lost,
Something gained, whate'er may come—
Soon thy Jordan must be crost—
Who goes Home?

Traveller, traveller, at thy side
Walketh Enemy or Friend,
But alone the crucified
Find the way is also end;
Hours and moments lightly flit,
God will shut thy earthly time
When the final page is writ—
Who goes Home?

414

December 31 FINIS!

“Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end.”—Isa. ix. 7.

Finis? Ah, no, it cannot be,
There is no earthly end to us,
Unbounded ages shall for me
And all redeem our errors thus;
For, in new methods marvellous,
We shall at length be truly free;
And man, with unspent virile force,
Shall yet run out his Godlike course.

This love, like a consuming fire
Which burns me sore but cannot kill,
And wraps the soul in white attire,
Must go on living, loving still;
And this divine unconquered will
Must somehow wreak its full desire,
And shall, though suns and systems fall,
Be all itself and one through all.

Finis? The full and closing page
Of the last chapter to my book,
May not be written on the stage
Which has the broadest human look;
Unshaken yet by storms that shook
Its path in many a previous age,
My heart, which is no mortal dole,
Shall help the Purpose of the Whole.