I am so weary, Master dear,
So very weary of the road,
I pray I may be very near
That snow-white City built of God,
Where pain and heart-ache have not strayed,
Where nought is known but peace and rest,
Where thy dear hands have ready made
A place for e’en the humblest guest.
But come thou closer, Master dear,
My weakness makes me sore dismayed,
O, let me whisper in thine ear,
For I am troubled and afraid.
What if my soul its way should miss
Between this and the world above,
And never share the perfect bliss
Provided by thy tender love?
But lo, He speaketh at my side
So close I feel His shelt’ring touch,
“Thou art my guest, can harm betide
One called of me, and known as such?
Dear child, the journey is not long,
Thy heart need not to fear or shrink
An opening door, an angel’s song—
Oh, heaven is nearer than you think!
At Dawn
I CANNOT echo the old wish to die at morn, as darkness strays!
We have been glad together greeting some new-born and radiant days,
The earth would hold me, every day familiar things
Would weight me fast,
The stir, the touch of morn, the bird that on swift wings
Goes flitting past.
Some flower would lift to me its tender tear-wet face, and send its breath
To whisper of the earth, its beauty and its grace,
And combat death.
It would be light, and I would see in thy dear eyes
The sorrow grow.
Love, could I lift my own undimmed to paradise
And leave thee so!
A thousand chords would hold me down to this low sphere,
When thou didst grieve;
Ah! should death come upon morn’s rosy breast, I fear
I’d crave reprieve.
But when her gold all spent, the sad day takes her flight,
When shadows creep,
Then just to put my hand in thine and say, “Good night,”
And fall asleep.