Poems of the Heart and Home

by Mrs. J. C. Yule

Strike the chords softly!—yet no, as we tarry,
Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.

Let us not linger!—Earth's millions are crying
"Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying—
Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"

Let us not linger!—our brethren are calling,—
"Aid us, the harvest increases each day;—
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling!—
Others have passed from their labors away."

Gracious Redeemer we go at thy bidding,
Gladly encountering peril and loss;
Take us—ourselves to thy work we are giving,
Giveus—'tis more than we merit—thy cross!

AT HOME

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire
Weary of foreign travel, at the door
Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,
And entering in, sat down with those he loved
Beside the hearth of home;—and pleasant, too,
When a fond mother, absent for a day,
At eve returning, from the sunset hill
That overlooked her cot, descried her boys
Flying with joyous feet along the path
To greet her coming; and, with clasping hands
Of baby welcome, lead her through the gate
Of her sweet home.

Pleasant I deemed it, too,
When a young man, a wanderer for years
From those he loved, at length sat down again
With sire and mother in the twilight hour
At home;—and when a gentle daughter, long
From mother's kiss and father's blessing far,
Heard once again their ne'er forgotten tones
Giving her joyous welcome home again,
I felt that life had few such joys as that.
And yet, methought there was—canst tell me why—
Thou, who in Earth alone hast found thy bliss?—
A higher, sweeter, purer joy than those,
When, free from sin and Earth's encumb'ring cares,
A ransomed soul went home to be with Christ.
I knew a man in life's strong; healthful prime—
Aye more, the flush of youth was on his brow,
And all his bounding pulses were astir
With the great joy of work for God, while hope—
Such hope as only Heaven-taught manhood fires
To loftiest ambition—pointed down
The radiant vista of the coming years
To deeds immortal. But the Master called,
And, in mid-race he heard—"Come home, my child!"—
And paused, and listened in surprise and doubt.

"Come home my child!" Then, listening, I heard
The pale lips murmur, while the head was bent
In reverent submission—"Oh, so soon?—
So soon, my Lord? Thou knowest there is much
I fain would do for thee!—thy precious lambs
To gather and to feed—thy sheep to lead
In quiet pastures, and thy name beloved
To herald forth, till Earth's remotest shore
Shall thrill with rapture, and send up to thee
The new-born utterance of love's great joy!"

"Come home, dear child!"—again the Master's voice—
And eagerly he flung his robe aside,
Ungirt his loins, and cast his sandals by;
And while he sweetly sang—"I love the Lord!"—
Entered the peaceful river, and went o'er,
To be forever with the Lord he loved.

———————————I knew an aged man,
Yet one scarce bent, with fresh, luxuriant hair
So beautifully white, and clear, blue, loving eyes;—
We almost worshipped that most princely man
In his pure, patriarchal beauty. But one day
A whisper came to him. It was so low
We heard it not, nor knew till he was gone—
Gone home! Our sun was set on earth,
Yet risen in Heaven; and through our falling tears
We saw our loved at home, thenceforth to be
Forever with the Lord—Oh, highest bliss—
Forever with his Lord!