The Mountain Spring And Other Poems | Page 5

the guilty conscience?Sweet peace and pardon brings.?Ring how he burst death's fetters?In rising from the grave,?And from its lasting bondage?Will all his people save.
Ring how he intercedeth?And ever lives above?For all who trust and serve him,?Rejoicing in his love;?Of the many mansions he's prepared?Of everlasting rest,?Whose joys no tongue can utter?Nor tell how glad and blest.
Awake, then, to your duty,?O church of Christ, awake!?Behold the beauty of their feet?Who the glad tidings take!?Reach out and ring the bells of heaven;?Blest be the hands that give?The truth, that all who listen?May hope and joy and live!?Ah, 'tis a wondrous story!?Good news to all the world!?The gospel means glad tidings?Wherever 'tis unfurled.
Great God, impart thy Spirit?That all who love their Lord?May see in life a flitting hour?To obey and speak his word.
THE DESERT SPRING
"Oh, no, my lord, she cannot stay;?Cast out this bond maid with her mocking child,?For they cannot be heirs with thine and mine."?Abraham was sad, for he had prayed, "O God,?That Ishmael may dwell within thy sight!"?And now the message came to him, "Fear not!?In all that Sarah says list to her voice.?In Isaac shall thy seed be called. Also?I'll make of Hagar's son a nation great,?Because he sprang from thee."
Then Abraham rose?At early dawn, and lading Egypt's child?With water and with bread, sent her grief-worn?With Ishmael to wander lone within?Beersheba's wilderness. While yet the air?Was cool, and nature locked in the embrace?Of morn, likely the child was blithe and gay,?Unheeding the sad face and drooping form?Of her who doubtless turned from childhood's tents?In tears of woe.
Thrilled with his Arab blood?He raced along; and thus to fancy's ear?He prattled on: "O mother, do not weep!?The Princess Sarah cannot chide us now.?We're free! I love the wilderness! I love?The earth and sky! Look at those birds,?Far as the fleecy clouds! And here?Are flowers with which to wreathe my bow.?With it I'll bring thee deer and fowl to dress,?When by and by we reach a babbling stream?Where we may safely dwell."
On, still on,?Through arid plains, with blistering feet,?Beneath a burning sky, they toil along.?The lad no longer talks of birds and flowers,?But begs for water--water just to cool?His parching throat; and likely 'twas that when?Noon's shadows mirrored the encircling hills,?He saw the empty flask, and must at last?Have fainted on the scorching sand.
We read?That Hagar cast him 'neath a shrub, and then,?Withdrawing quite a space, she prayed, "O God,?Let me not see his death!" and so sank down?Upon the ground to watch him where he lay,?And wept such tears as touched the world on high?With sympathy divine. God heard the lad,?And from his radiant home an angel spake:?"What aileth thee, O Hagar? Rise and take?The lad, and stand him on his feet. I'll make?Of him a nation great." Her eyes were opened;?And she saw a well, from which with joyful haste?She filled her flask and gave the weakling lad?A draught which gave him back to health?And life again.
Water!--a type of Christ,?God's son, that whosoever will may drink?That everflowing stream of love and live?Eternally! The angel's prophecy foretold?Those countless hordes, those tented caravans,?Whose graceful steeds have plied through centuries past Those barren, trackless wastes; some of the men?Who, Egypt-bound with spicery and balm,?Halted beside the lonely pit, and bartered there?For that young lad whose coat dyed in the blood?Of kids, made Jacob with wild agony exclaim,?"This is my Joseph's coat! He has, no doubt,?Been rent in twain by beasts!"
The wanderers soon?Lay down to rest, 'neath starry skies to wait?Another dawn, and on the mother's face?There must have been a light of joy divine;?For had she not held intercourse with Heaven??Were not its guardian bands around them then?In desert weird and wild?
Ye weary souls,?Tired travelers on the sands of time,?Trust God and look to him for strength!?The angel of his word speaks faith and peace,?And presses to the thirsting lip the cup?Of immortality!
MUSINGS
"Childhood and youth are vanity."
Often o'er life's pathway straying?Come sweet strains of long ago,?To the chords of memory playing?Music sweet and music low.
When upon the gray rock musing?'Neath the tree by childhood's home,?In the wild bird's note so soothing?Tenderly these strains will come.
Gazing on the deep fringed mountain,?Distance robing it in blue,?Quaffing the familiar fountain,?Each repeats the story too.
Wandering by the streamlet flowing?Where we played in hours of glee,?Hear its murmurs coming, going,?Tell of joys that used to be.
Wandering in the leafy wildwood?Sometimes in our leisure hours,?In the sunny days of childhood?How much fairer seemed its flowers!
Watching from the hill the sunset?'Neath the spreading chestnut tree,?Youthful dreams and visions come yet?Through the years so magically.
Yet how vain these memories olden?If they do not teach the truth?That within the city golden?Only, dwells perpetual youth.
BARTIM?US
"What means this throng?" a blind man said,?Whilst begging by the highway side;?Begging and blind, and lacking bread,?His ears discern the living tide.?"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by,"?Was answered. Had