Forgive if we seem to intrude upon holy ground, but sometimes we see in imagination some great gathering of God's people, and we hear them singing hymns; and sometimes the beautiful words change into others not beautiful, but only insistent:—
The Lord our God arouse us! We are sleeping,
Dreaming we wake, while through the heavy night
Hardly perceived, the foe moves on unchallenged,
Glad of the dream that doth delay the fight.
O Christ our Captain, lead us out to battle!
Shame on the sloth of soldiers of the light!
. . . . .
Good Shepherd, Jesus, pitiful and tender,
To whom the least of straying lambs is known,
Grant us Thy love that wearieth not, nor faileth;
Grant us to seek Thy wayward sheep that roam
Far on the fell, until we find and fold them
Safe in the love of Thee, their own true home.
CHAPTER XXXVI
"Thy Sweet Original Joy"
Beacons of hope, ye appear!
Languor is not in your heart,
Weakness is not in your word,
Weariness not on your brow.
WITHIN the last few months a friend, a lover of books, sent me The Trial and Death of Socrates, translated into English by F. J. Church. Opening it for the first time, I came upon this passage:—