Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1873-08-04
Relisions department
ST. JOHN, THE AGED.

1.-THE following anonymous poem found. about
eight years ago, in magazine published at Philade
phia It's beauty of language, fervor of feeling and
exalted religious sentiment claim for it wider circu-
lation than it has yet attained j
I'm growing very old. This weary head
That hath so often leaned on Jesus breast,
In days lC ng past that seem almost dream,
Is bent and hoary with its weight of years.
These limbs that followed Him-my Master-oft
From Galilee to Judah yea, that stood
Beneath the cross and trembled with His groans,
Refuse to bear me even through the streets
To preach unto my children. Fen my lips
Refuse to form the words my heart sends forth.
My ears are dull; they scarcely hear the sobs
OF my dear children gathered round my couch:
My eyes so dim, they cannot see their tears.
God lays His hand upon me Yea, His HAND
And not His RoD-the gentle hand that
Felt those three years, so often pressed in mine,
In friendship such as passeth woman's love.
I'm old, SO old! cannot recollect 6F
The faces of my friends, and forget
The words and deeds that make up my daily life;
But that dear face, and every word He spoke,
Grow more distinct as others fade away,
So live with Him and holy dead
More than with living.
Some seventy years ago
fisher by the sacred sea.
1t was at sunset. How the tranquil tide
Bathed dreamy the pebblesl How the light
Crept up the distant hills, and in its wake
Soft purple shadows wrapped the dewey fields!
For the first time that sweet face. Those eyes,
From out Of which, as from a window, shone
Divinity looked on my inmost SOUL
And lighted it forever. Then His words
Broke on the silence of my heart and made
The whole world musical. Incarnate Love
Took hold Of me and claimed me for its own.
| followed in the twilight holding fast
| His mantle.
| Obi what holy walks we had
Through harvest fields and desolate dreary wastes
And oftentimes He leaned upon my arm.
Wearied and wayworn. / was young and strong,
| And Old and feeble. Let he rest on Theel
| So, put Thine arm around me- Closer still!
| How strong Thou art! The twilight draws apace.
| Come, let us leave these noisy streets and take
| The path to Bethany, for Marys smile
| Awaits us at the gate and Marthas hands
| Have long prepared the cheerful evening meal.
| Come James. the Master waits and Peter, see,
| Has gone some steps before.
What say you friends?
| That this is Ephesus, and Christ has gone
| Back to His kingdom? Ay tits so, it's So
| l know it all; and yet just now seemed
To stand once more upon my native hills
And touch my Master. Oh how oft I've seen
The touching Of His garments bring back strength
| To palsied limbsi 1 feel it has to mine.
| Upl bear me once more to my church,-once more
| There let me tell them of Savour's love:
| For by the sweetness of my Masters voice
| just now. think He must be very near
| Coming, trust, to break the vail which time
| Has worn so thin that can see beyond,
And watch his footsteps.
gl-s 50 So, raise up my head
| How dark it is |! cannot seem to see Ee@
The faces of my flock. Is that the sea
That murmurs SO, or is it weeping? Hush
| My little chdreni God SO loved the world
| He gave His Son; 80 love We another;
! Love God and man. Amen. Now bear me back.
| My legacy unto an angry world is this.
feel my work is finished. Are the streets SO full?
| What, call my folk by name? The Holy John?
| Nay, write me rather, Jesus Christ's beloved
| And lover of my children.
| Lay down
Once more upon my couch, and open wide
The eastern window. Seei there comes a light
Like that which broke upon my soul at eve,
When, in the dreary Isle of Patmos, Gabriel came
And touched me on the shoulder Seei it grows
And when we mounted towards the pearly gates
i know the way trod it once BEFORE
And bark it is the song the ransomed sang
OF glory to the Lamb How loud it sounds
And that unwritten one! Methnks my soul
Can join 1t now. But who are these who crowd
The shining way? Say?-joy! it's the eleven
With Peter first: how eagerly he looks!
How bright the smiles are beamng on James face |
am the last. Once more we are complete
To gather round the Paschal feast My place
Is next my Master. Oh, my Lord my Lord
How bright Thou art and yet the very same
loved in Galilee! 'Tis worth the hundred years
To feel this bliss +! So. lift me up. dear Lord,
Unto thy bosom There shall abide