But soon a cloud obscured my path,
A cross before me lay;
I knew it was for me to bear,
And yet I turned away ;
The voice of my Beloved spake,
Yet stern it seemed to be;
He pointed to the cross and said,
"Take it and follow Me."
Father, O Father! ask not this,
'Tis more than I can bear,
Lay any other burden on,
But this in mercy spare;
Let me but move one step aside,
And so escape this loss;
Father! Thy feeble child will sink
Beneath this weary cross.
My prayer unheard, unheeded sped,
Or was-if heard-denied ;
He hedged my way so closely in,
I could not turn aside;
Yet still I strove to break the fence,
Rebelled against the rod,
And struggled sorely 'gainst Thy will,
My Saviour and my God.
But He who loved me at the first,
Still loved me to the end,
And spite of all my waywardness,
Remained my faithful Friend;
He bore with all my hard complaints,
'Gainst my rebellion strove,
And showed me that this dreaded cross
Was sent in perfect love.
I stooped, I raised it up-and lọ !
The heavy weight was gone;
My Saviour bore the load for me,
I was not left alone.
Then grateful, humbled in the dust,
Once more my path I trod,
Feeling how light the burden is
Which we can cast on God.
COULDST NOT THOU WATCH ONE HOUR. "Couldst not thou watch one hour."-MARK xiv. 37.
THE night was dark; behold the shade was deeper
In the old garden of Gethsemane,
When that still loving voice awoke the sleeper,
"Couldst thou not watch one hour alone with Me?"
Oh! thou so weary of thy self-denials,
And so impatient of thy little cross,
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,
And count all earthly things a gainful loss?
What if thou always suffer tribulation,
And if thy Christian warfare never cease ;
The gaining of the quiet habitation
Will gather thee to everlasting peace.
But here we all must suffer, walking lowly
The path that Jesus once Himself hath gone ;
Watch thou in patience through this one hour only,
This one dark hour before the eternal dawn.
The captive's oar may pause upon the galley,
The soldier sleep beneath his plumed crest,
And peace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley ;
But thou, O Christian, mayst not take thy rest.
Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee,
With Him who trod the wine-press all alone;
Thou mayst not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thy own.
Heed not the images that may be thronging
From out the foregone life thou liv'st no more;
Faint-hearted mariner! still art thou longing
For the dim line of the receding shore?
Wilt thou find rest of soul in thy returning
To that old path thou hast so vainly trod?
Hast thou forgotten all thy weary yearning
To walk among the children of thy God,
Faithful and steadfast, in their consecration,
Living to that high faith, to thee so dim;
Declaring before God their dedication-
So far from thee, because so near to Him?
Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,
Behold, we count them happy which endure"; What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, Re-pass the stormy waters to secure?
And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise
For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford ?
No hand can take away the treasure from us,
That rests within the keeping of the Lord.
Poor wandering soul! I know that thou art seeking
An easier way, as all have done before,
To silence the reproachful, inward speaking ;—
Some land-ward path unto an island shore.
The cross is heavy to thy outward measure,
The way too narrow for thy inward pride;
Thou canst not lay thy intellectual treasure
At the low foot-stool of the Crucified.
Oh that thy faithless soul, but one hour only,
Would comprehend the Christian's perfect life,
Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lowly,
Yet calmly pressing upward in its strife.
For poverty and self-renunciation
The Father yieldeth back a thousand-fold;
In the calm stillness of regeneration
Cometh a joy they never knew of old.
In meek obedience to the Heavenly Teacher
The weary soul can only find its peace,
Seeking no aid from any human creature,
Looking to God alone for its release.
And He will come in His own time and power,
To set His earnest-hearted children free:
Watch only through this dark and painful hour,
And the bright morning yet will break for thee.
"That both he that soweth, and he that reapeth may rejoice together."
FROM the far-off fields of earthly toil
A goodly host they come,
And sounds of music are on the air,---
'Tis the song of the Harvest-home.
The weariness and the weeping—
The darkness has all passed by,
And a glorious sun has risen-
The Sun of Eternity!
We've seen those faces in days of yore,
When the dust was on their brow,
And the scalding tear upon their cheek-
Let us look at the labourers now!
We think of the life-long sorrow,
And the wilderness days of care;
We try to trace the tear-drops,
But no scars of grief are there.
There's a mystery of soul-chastened joy,
Lit up with sun-light hues,
Like morning flowers most beautiful,
When wet with midnight dews.
There are depths of earnest meaning
In each true and trustful gaze,
Telling of wondrous lessons,
Learnt in their pilgrim days;
And a conscious confidence of bliss,
That shall never again remove,—
All the faith and hope of journeying years,
Gathered up in that look of love.
The long waiting days are over;
They've received their wages now ;
For they've gazed upon their Master,
And His name is on their brow.
They've seen the safely garnered sheaves,
And the song has been passing sweet,
Which welcomed the last in-coming one,
Laid down at their Saviour's feet.
Oh! well does His heart remember,
As those notes of praise sweep by,
The yearning, plaintive music
Of earth's sadder minstrelsy.
And well does He know each chequered tale,
As He looks on the joyous band—
All the lights and shadows that crossed their path, In the distant pilgrim land;
The heart's unspoken anguish
The bitter sighs and tears—
The long, long hours of watching-
The changeful hopes and fears!
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