Our Profession and Other Poems Part 18

There are times when the herdsman's calling May vibrate thro' alpine ranch Till the pendent drop, by its falling, Sweeps down in an avalanche, Till the mountain trembles and totters 'Neath the mighty force of snow, And the lives and homes of the cotters Are lost in the vale below.

There are times when the mind's inaction Has robbed the soul of power, When moments of deep reflection Arrive at so late an hour That they lose the force of their mission In the laggard way they come, And like withered buds of fruition, Are lifeless, powerless, dumb.

There are words that have been spoken That have echoed on thro' years; Though the vessel has been broken That voiced them to our ears, Yet they come with increased ardor As the years are pa.s.sing by, Since the soul stood on the border Of vast eternity.

There are scenes that ever mirror Their forms in thought divine, That with lapse of time grow dearer Till we hold them as some shrine, Wherein are kept the treasures Of Faith and Trust and Love-- A trio fraught with pleasures Drawn from the realms above.

There are hours upon whose decision The fate of a soul may be; Though clouds may obscure the vision And we pray for a light to see The way that shall lead to heaven, And keep our pathway bright, We can use but the knowledge given And walk in our purest light.

Let us scan each hour's requisition And answer every demand, Knowing that want of decision Is a foe we cannot withstand; If we shrink from performing our duty, Or tardily fashion our thought, Life loses its charm and its beauty And existence profits us naught.

We know that like all human Our work is imperfect at best, And will bristle with imperfections Till our hands shall be at rest; But to justify our blunders Or pa.s.s them lightly o'er, Is the fatal way of inviting A thousand errors more.

WHO SHALL JUDGE?

We know not all that we have done, Nor may we ever know; No field was ever lost or won, Until the final blow Has registered itself in Heaven, And every impulse known, That tells a reason why 'twas given, To Him upon the Throne.

Then let us boast not of our deeds, Nor let our true hearts fail, Because we think some plan succeeds While others ne'er prevail; For he who works as best he can With lofty, pure intent, Will not be judged by puny man, But G.o.d Omnipotent.

This earth is a place of probation, A school wherein man may secure A knowledge of his true relation, To the n.o.ble, the true, and the pure.

THE FUTURE.

I know not what the future May have in store for me, I only know that G.o.d is G.o.d And He may trusted be.

The past with all its pleasure And all its sorrow too, Has been but a probation To prove me false or true.

If in my earthly mission No progress has been made Toward a higher spirit-- No growth of soul displayed--

Then dark, sad, and foreboding The future must appear, The soul must shrink in terror When death's hour draweth near.

If in the past no brother Has felt my outstretched hand, To aid him on his pilgrimage Toward a better land,

No word of mine brought solace To a weary careworn soul; No hand of mine has pointed To the Christian's heavenly goal;

No thought, or word, or action To lead to better life; No balm to heal deep anguish; No anodyne for strife;

Then shall I hear the sentence, "You did it not to me,"

Come from the sacred Teacher Who taught in Gallilee.

If I have wronged my brother, In action or in thought; Have forced him into sorrow, Or counted him as naught,

Have borne false witness of him Or robbed him of his peace; Unjustly taken from him Or hindered his increase,

The words of condemnation, "You did it unto me,"

Will fill my soul with terror, Distress, and misery.

My soul has wronged no being Of just and honest part; But on this sole reliance It would not dare depart.

Not in its own weak merit, Not in itself alone, But in the great redemption Of Him who did atone

For man, and bid him enter, The gates of joy and rest, Through faith, and prayer, and penitence, Upon a Savior's breast.

I shrink not at the future Whatever it may be, But joy in full a.s.surance Of faith's expectancy.

Let me pa.s.s away when my work is done, Like a cloudless day whose setting sun Leaves a smile on the evening sky; Let this transient clay when deprived of breath, With the earth yet stay, it alone knows death, Myself must live on and cannot die.

ERE AND AT MY CALL.

Ere I lay me down the burden That my soul on earth hath worn, Let me feel before departing, That my tree of life hath borne Fruitage that shall ever onward Move mankind along the road, Toward the haven of the blessed Toward the city of my G.o.d.

Let some word that I have spoken Or some act performed by me, Sound aloud thro' coming ages Making captive souls more free; Not to bring me earthly glory Nor to win me empty fame, But to prove the mighty power In a risen Savior's name.

Let my work be all completed When the summons comes to go; Let there be no cause for weeping, Let there be no sound of woe, When the spirit from my Father Beckons me from duty done, To appear at His tribunal, And receive the crown that's won.

Let there be a joyous sunset, Lighting all the realm above With the radiance and the glory Of a Savior's dying love; Let my faith be firm, unshaken, Let His hand be clasped in mine, Let me cross the mystic river, Leaning on His breast divine.

BODING SNOW.

The sky that was blue and sunny, Has changed to a granite gray, The sun that was soft and cheery, Refuses it mellow ray; On the distant tree-top, cawing, Sits a solitary crow; These and the shivering children Betoken the coming snow.

Soon the flakes will be falling, Like down from an angel's wing, That is sent from the starry regions For Nature's covering; The trees, the plants, the gra.s.ses, With rev'rence bow their heads, For the pure and fleecy mantle That G.o.d above them spreads.