The Child on the Judgment-Seat.
Mrs. E. Charles.
[Recitation for Two Students.]
FIRST.
Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart,
That thy brow is burdened and sad?
The Master’s work may make weary feet,
But it leaves the spirit glad.
SECOND.
No pleasant garden-toils were mine;
I have sat on the judgment-seat
Where the Master sits above, and calls
The children around His feet.
FIRST.
How camest thou on the judgment-seat?
Sweetheart, who set thee there?
’Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,
And well might fill thee with care.
SECOND.
I climbed on the judgment-seat myself,
I have sat there alone all day,
For it grieved me to see the children around
Idling their life away.
FIRST.
And what didst thou on the judgment-seat,
Sweetheart, what didst thou there?
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?
Did the garden mend for thy care?
SECOND.
Nay, that grieved me more; I called and I cried,
But they left me there forlorn;
My voice was weak, and they heeded not,
Or they laughed my words to scorn.
FIRST.
Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee,
The servants were not thine,
And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame
See farther than thine or mine.
SECOND.
Should I see the Master’s treasures lost,
The gifts that should feed his poor,
And not lift my voice—be it weak as it may—
And not be grievèd sore?
FIRST.
But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart,
Whilst thou sat on the judgment-seat?
Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines,
And kept them from careless feet?
SECOND.
Nay, that is saddest of all to me,
That is the saddest of all.
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched.
My lilies droop and fall.
FIRST.
Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart,
Go back till the evening falls,
And bind thy lilies and train thy vines
Till for thee the Master calls.
Go make thy garden fair as thou canst,
Thou workest never alone;
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine
Will see it and mend his own.
And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,
Till all grows fair and sweet;
And when the Master comes at eve
Happy faces His coming shall greet.
Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart,
In thy garden so fair to see,
In the Master’s voice of praise for all,
In a look of His own for thee.