He of the practised hand
Stood by,
Knowing the gentle one
Must die,
Watching the face in its sweet content,
Noting the smile of glad assent,
As he spake of life as nearly spent,
Death-nigh.
* * * * * *
Only an unknown name
Enrolled
On the death-list there—none knew,
Or told
Her story—but, surely a Presence came
Into their midst, as the dear Christ’s name
Was murmured by lips, with love aflame,
Though cold.
And they who had gathered there
That day,
Young, and joyous, and brave
And gay,
To note, with critical gaze, a case,
Silently passed from the hallowed place,
Bearing rememberance of heaven-lit face
Away.
Beyond.
AND the Angel said “Nay!
“But reckon the years of your life once again,
“Not a thousand, one day,
“But one day, as a thousand years!” Then
How clear it all seemed!
I had lived, and I knew it not—Lived!
And I thought I but dreamed,
So brief a time-space I had lived.
* * * * * *
And the Angel said “Read!”
And the story of life op’ed before me;
Wakened Soul! Small the need,
Swift mem’ry the page will restore thee;
“But read! Now thou darest,
“There is nothing that thou would’st amend,
“For that hour was life’s rarest,
“When a Soul did’st thine own comprehend.”
Introspection.
(Suggested by a sermon delivered by the late Rev. Doctor W. W. Carson.)
If I have conquered self to-day,
If I have trod the narrow way,
Nor let my footsteps from it stray,
Then shall I have reward.
If self has conquered me to-day,
Has beckoned to the broader way,
And I have chosen thence to stray,
Have pity on me, Lord!
Thou knowest—Thou and I alone,
Within my breast the judgment throne;
Thy dear voice whispers there “Well done,”
And perfect peace I gain:
Or prone I lie, and sob “Unclean,”
Thy presence felt, though all unseen;
I dare not look—Thy sad, stern mien
Would rend my heart in twain.
Man may misjudge—Thine image bright
May flood my soul with Heaven’s own light,
Yet men may doubt, and count all night
Of gloom and guilt within.
Or, when the temple doors should close
Against me, I may find repose
In Sacred Courts, and even those
Who welcome, guess no sin.
Thou knowest, Lord, the moments sweet,
When lowly sitting at Thy feet,
My spirit shares the Angels’ meat,
And I am satisfied.
Thou knowest, too, when I would fill
The soul’s deep void with husks—and still
For lack of them I faint—Oh! will
I ne’er with Thee abide?