# The Songs that Quinte Sang/The Coming of the King

The Coming of the King.
O God! Dost Thou not hear the bitter wailing Ascending from the Earth unto Thy Throne? Are human tears and prayers so unavailing That Heaven heareth not our sobbing moan?
“As a shepherd feeds his flock,” so it is written, Lord, we believe, even as Thou hast said, Yet see, God! By Famine’s gaunt hand smitten Thy children faint and die, They have no bread.
Thou hast endowed the Earth with goodly treasure That each may have a portion, fair and just, And bade Thy stewards give with flowing measure, Yet see, Lord, how they abuse Thy Trust.
Hearken, God! King, in justice hearken! Earth’s toiling millions moan in agony. How long, dear God, must man’s oppression darken The lives of those who put their trust in Thee?
O Angel host, whose songs are ever ringing Around Jehovah’s Throne, so sweet and clear, For one brief moment cease, O cease thy singing, And let Earth’s bitter wailing reach His ear.
Weep on, ye sufferers, raise your moans to Heaven, Let cries of anguish swell more loud and long Until Earth’s pain the jasper walls hath riven, And hushed the rapture of the angels’ song.
There was silence in Heaven around the Throne, As up from the Earth came a sobbing moan Fraught with such anguish and bitter wrong That the singers in Heaven hushed their song, And the Lord stooped down from His Throne to hear Earth’s bitter cry as it reached His ear, And His heart was moved for the woes of men— “My children need me on Earth again.” Then He said to His shining herald: “Go, Wing thy swift way to the world below, And proclaim this message unto all men, ‘The King is coming to Earth again.’”
Through the Gates of Pearl, like a winged flame, Down to the Earth the Angel came, And the hearts of men, erstwhile so sad With the cares of Life, grew light and glad When they heard the tidings the herald bore: “Rejoice! The King is coming once more.” And all the rulers met to plan How Earth should welcome the Son of Man.
And they summoned the myriad slaves of Earth, The sad-faced toilers of humble birth, Saying: “Work! We bid ye, slaves of the land! Build us a mansion, more high and grand
Than ever was seen on Earth before, For our King is coming to rule once more, So build us a palace, grand and great, Where our King can rule in royal state.”
And the toilers labored with all their might Through many a weary day and night, And the palace walls rose high and grand ’Neath the wondrous skill of brain and hand, And the feast was spread in the banquet hall Where the rich and mighty assembled all, And luxury, warmth and light were there, And the glimmer and gleam of jewels rare, In costliest garments all were dressed Waiting to welcome the Kingly Guest, And the sheen of garments, rich and grand, The labor of woman’s toil-worn hands, And the bells rang out in joyous mirth To welcome the Prince of Peace to Earth.
And the work of the weary slaves was o’er. Their masters needed their toil no more; All was in readiness for the guest, And the weary slaves, for a while might rest. “Hasten,” they said, “from the palace door, All ye who are lowly-born and poor. When the King arrives in royal state It is fitting that none but the rich and great, The ruler, the statesman, the scribe and priest, Should sit with Him at the royal feast; So depart, ye slaves, from the palace door, Go, seek your homes in the haunts of the poor, Lest your garments worn and your faces thin Should offend His eyes as He enters in.”
And the weary toilers went slowly home Through the darkening streets. Their work was done. But some of them lingered and dared to stay To see the King as He passed that way, Though the royal feast was not for them, Yet they all might touch His garment’s hem.
But even as the rulers sat in state, A knock was heard at the palace gate, “The King has come at last,” they cried, And their hearts beat fast with joy and pride, “Our King has kept His royal word, Let us all go forth to meet our Lord.” And they all went forth, that stately throng, And the palace gates were open flung, And there in the entrance stood a man In the humble garb of an artizan.
A murmur of anger, loud and long, Went up from that jeweled, silk-robed throng, That one from the ranks of the low and poor Should dare to knock at the palace door; And they frowned on him as he meekly said: “I am tired and hungry, give me bread, I have journeyed many a mile this day, And my path lay over a rugged way, My limbs are weary and ready to sink, I am tired and thirsty, give me drink.”
But they answered him as with one accord, “This is the palace of Christ the Lord; Within the hall the feast is spread. Is it right that a beggar should eat the bread
That is meant for a Prince of Royal Race?” And they shut the door in the stranger’s face.
Then they all went back to the banquet room, And they waited long for the King to come; And the lights burned dim as the night wore on, And hope from their bosoms was almost gone, And they said at the first, faint gleam of day: “Surely the King has lost His way. Let us go forth with willing feet Through every by-way and every street; Let us hasten before it is too late, And show Him the way to the palace gate.”
So all that day, with willing feet They searched through the crowded city street For a Kingly Stranger, but all in vain; And their tears fell fast like the summer rain And their sorrow was deep as well as loud, For they loved their King, but their hearts were proud.
They found Him when day was almost o’er, ’Mid the humble homes of the toiling poor. With a worshiping crowd around Him pressed, In glad amaze, He had stripped His breast Of the royal mantle, and wrapped it ’round A shivering outcast of the town, Whilst closely clasped to His sheltering breast A baby slumbered in peaceful rest— A poor little babe, a child of sin, With the brand of shame on its features thin, Whilst the jeweled crown that had graced His head He had given the poor, to sell for bread.
Then pushing the humble throng aside The rulers knelt at His feet and cried: “King! We have sought Thee long in vain, And our hearts were heavy with grief and pain; Come, let us bring Thee to the gates Of Thy royal hall, where the feast awaits.”
Christ looked at them with meek, sad eyes, And they all shrank back in shamed surprise; They had seen that look of patient grace When they shut the door in the stranger’s face. “Ye knew Me not, and denied Me bread, When I knocked at the door last night,” He said.