Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1878-01-03
VOL. 35. NO. 43.
ST. JOHN, THE AGED.


THE following anonymous poem was found In 4
magazine published at PHILADELPHIA Its be autifu
language, fervor of feeling and exalted 10 Ms sem
timent claim for it wider circulation than it ha
yet attaiaed:
I'm growing very old. This weary head
That hath so often leaned on Jesus breast,
10 days long past that seem almost a dream
ls bent and hoary with its weight OF years.
These limbs that followed Him-my Master-oft
From Gailee to Judah yea, that stood
Beneath the cross and trembled with dis groans q
Refuse TO bear me even through the streets
TO preach unto my children, Zen my lips
Refuse TO form the words my heart sends forth
NY ears are dull, they scarcely hear the sobs
vi my dear children gathered rou nd my couch
you Jays his haad upon me yea, His hand,
Ano not HIS rod-the gentle hand that 1
felt, those three years, 50 oft pressed In mine
Ia friendship such.as passeth woman's love,
I'm old so old IL cannot recollect
The faces of my friends; and forget
The words and deeds that make up daily life
But that dear face and every word He spoke,
Grow more distinct as others fade away,
SO that live with Him and holy dead
More than with living.
Some seventy years ago
| was Usher by the sacred sea.
IL was at sunset. How the tranquil tide
Bathed dreamily the pebbles How the light
Crept up the distant hills, and in its wake
Soft purple shadows wrapped the dewey feldsi
And then He came and called me. Then gazed
For the nrst time, on that sweet face. Those eyes,
rrOtn out VI winch, as from window, shOn0
Divinity looked on my Utmost soul,
AID lighted IL forever. Then His words
Broke on the silence of my heart and made
The whole world musical linear nate Love
Took hold of me and claimed me for its own
followed In the twilight, holding fast
His mantle.
o, what holy walks we had,
Through harvest fields, and desoae, dreary wastesi
And oftentines He leaned upon my arm
Wearied and wayworn. Twas young and strong,
nnhOra IN ar1 T,.t.
And old. and feeblel Let me rest on Thee
80, put Thine arm around me. Closer still
How strong Thou art The twilight draws apace.
Come, let US leave those noisy streets and take
The path to Bethany; for Mary's 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, frieAdsf
That this is Ephesus, and Christ has gone
Back to His kingdom Ay, tits 80, It's so.
l know 1t all and yet, just now, seemed
To stand once mere upon my native hills,
And touch my Master. o, how oft I've seen
The touching of His garments bring back strength
To palsied iimbsi feel it has to mine.
Up bear me once more to my church Once more
There let me tell them Of Savior'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 80 thin that can see beyond,
And watch His footsteps.
90, raise up my mead
How dark ii is 1 cannot seem to see
The face of my flock. Is that the sea
That mt murs so, or 10 it weepingi Hush,
My little childreni God SO loved the world
He gave His Son. So love ye 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 80 full?
What call the folk my namei The Holy Johnf
Nay write me rather, Jesus Christ's beloved,
And lover ofmy children.
Law me down
Once more upon my couch, and open wide
The eastern window. See, there comes q light
Like that which broke upon my soul at eve,
When in the dreary Isle of Patmos, Gabriel came
nd touched me the shoulder. See, 1t grows
As when mounted toward the pearly gates.
know the way trod it once before.
And bark it is the song the ransomed sang
OF glory to the Lambl How loud ii sounds
And that unwrittenonel Methinks my soul
Can join 1t now. But who are those who crowd
The shining way? Sayi-joy! tits the eleven,
With Peter first How eagerly he looksl
How bright the smiles are beaming on James face!
am the last Once more we are complete
To gather round the Paschal feast. My place
Is next my Master. o, my Lord, my Lord
How bright thou arti and yet the very same
loved in Galee. IT'S worth the hundred years
To feel this bliss So lift me up, dear Lord,
Unto thy bosom. There shall abide.