Brave and
earnest, true and strong?
Men to stay the floods of sorrow
Sweeping round each war-crushed heart;
Men to say to
strife and carnage--
From our world
henceforth depart.
God of peace and God of nations,
Haste! oh, haste the
glorious day
MACEO. 81
When the reign of our Redeemer
O'er the world shall have its sway.
When the swords now blood encrusted,
Spears that reap the battle field,
Shall be changed to higher service,
Helping earth rich harvests yield.
Where the widow weeps in anguish,
And the
orphan bows his head,
Grant that peace and joy and gladness
May like holy angels tread.
Pity, oh, our God the sorrow
Of thy world from thee astray,
Lead us from the paths of madness
Unto Christ the living way.
Year by year the world grows weary
'Neath its weight of sin and
strife,
Though the hands once pierced and bleeding
Offer more
abundant life.
May the choral song of angels
Heard upon Judea's plain
Sound throughout the earth the tidings
Of that old and sweet refrain.
82 ONLY A WORD.
Till our world, so sad and weary,
Finds the balmy rest of peace--
Peace to silence all her discords--
Peace till war and crime shall cease.
Peace to fall like gentle showers,
Or on parch茅d flowers dew,
Till our hearts
proclaim with gladness:
Lo, He maketh all things new.
"FISHERS OF MEN."
I had a dream, a
varied dream:
Before my ravished sight
The city of my Lord arose,
With all its love and light.
The music of a
myriad harps
Flowed out with sweet accord;
And saints were casting down their crowns
In
homage to our Lord.
"FISHERS OF MEN." 83
My heart leaped up with
untold joy,
Life's toil and pain were o'er;
My weary feet at last had found
The bright and restful shore.
Just as I reached the gates of light,
Ready to enter in,
From earth arose a
fearful cry
Of sorrow and of sin.
I turned, and saw behind me surge
A wild and stormy sea;
And drowning men were reaching out
Imploring hands to me.
And ev'ry lip was blanched with dread,
And moaning for relief;
The music of the golden harps
Grew fainter for their grief.
Let me return, I quickly said,
Close to the pearly gate;
My work is with these
wretched ones,
So wrecked and desolate.
An angel smiled and
gently said:
This is the gate of life,
Wilt thou return to earth's sad scenes,
Its
weariness and
strife,
84 SIGNING THE PLEDGE.
To comfort hearts that sigh and break,
To dry the falling tear,
Wilt thou forego the music sweet
Entrancing now thy ear?
I must return, I
firmly said,
The strugglers in that sea
Shall not reach out beseeching hands
In vain for help to me.
I turned to go; but as I turned
The
gloomy sea grew bright,
And from my heart there seemed to flow
Ten thousand cords of light.
And sin-wrecked men, with eager hands
Did grasp each golden cord;
And with my heart I drew them on
To see my
gracious Lord.
Again I stood beside the gate.
My heart was glad and free;
For with me stood a rescued throng
The Lord had given me.
THE LOST BELLS. 85
THE LOST BELLS.
Year after year the artist wrought
With
earnest,
loving care,
The music flooding all his soul
To pour upon the air.
For this no metal was too rare,
He counted not the cost;
Nor deemed the years in which he toiled
As labor
vainly lost.
When morning flushed with
crimson light
The golden gates of day,
He longed to fill the air with chimes
Sweet as a matin's lay.
And when the sun was sinking low
Within the distant West,
He
gladly heard the bells he wrought
Herald the hour of rest.
The music of a thousand harps
Could never be so dear
As when those
solemn chants and thrills
Fell on his list'ning ear.
He poured his soul into their chimes,
And felt his toil repaid;
He called them children of his soul,
His home a'near them made.
86 THE LOST BELLS.
But evil days came on apace,
War spread his
banner wide,
And from his village snatched away
The artist's love and pride.
At dewy morn and stilly eve
The chimes no more he heard;
With dull and
restless agony
His spirit's depths was stirred.
A weary
longing filled his soul,
It bound him like a spell;
He left his home to seek the chimes--
The chimes he loved so well.
Where lofty fanes in
grandeur rose,
Upon his ear there fell
No music like the long lost chimes
Of his
beloved bell.
And thus he wandered year by year.
Touched by the hand of time,
Seeking to hear with
anxious heart
Each well remembered chime.
And to that worn and weary heart
There came a glad surcease:
He heard again the dear old chimes,
And smiled and uttered peace.
THE LOST BELLS. 87
"The chimes! the chimes!" the old man cried,
"I hear their tones at last;"
A sudden
rapture filled his heart,
And all his cares were past.
Yes, peace had come with death's sweet calm,
His journeying was o'er,
The weary,
restless wanderer
Had reached the restful shore.
It may be that he met again,
Enfolded in the air,
The dear old chimes beside the gates
Where all is bright and fair;
That he who crossed and bowed his head
When Angelus was sung
In clearer light touched golden harps
By angel fingers strung.
88 "DO NOT CHEER, MEN ARE DYING."
"DO NOT CHEER, MEN ARE DYING," SAID
CAPT. PHILLIPS, IN THE SPANISH-
AMERICAN WAR.
Do not cheer, for men are dying
From their distant homes in pain;
And the
restless sea is darkened
By a flood of
crimson rain.
Do not cheer, for
anxious mothers
Wait and watch in
lonely dread;
Vainly
waiting for the footsteps
Never more their paths to tread.
Do not cheer, while little children
Gather round the widowed wife,
Wondering why an unknown people
Sought their own dear father's life.
Do not cheer, for aged fathers
Bend above their staves and weep,
While the ocean sings the requiem
Where their fallen children sleep.
Do not cheer, for lips are paling
On which lay the mother's kiss;
'Mid the
dreadful roar of battle
How that mother's hand they miss!
"DO NOT CHEER, MEN ARE DYING." 89
Do not cheer: once
joyous maidens,
Who the mazy dance did tread,
Bow their heads in bitter anguish,
Mourning o'er their cherished dead.
Do not cheer while maid and matron
In this
strife must bear a part;
While the blow that strikes a soldier
Reaches to some woman's heart.
Do not cheer till arbitration
O'er the nations holds its sway,
And the century now closing
Ushers in a brighter day.
Do not cheer until the nation
Shall more wise and
thoughtful grow