The Mountain Spring And Other Poems | Page 3

hurl thee to thy destiny.
THE LIVING WATER
I that speak unto thee am he.--John 4:26.
She left her home that morn
In fair Samaria's land,
All heedless of
her state forlorn,
Sin-bound, both heart and hand.
With prejudicial
pride
She scorned the meek request
Of One who sat the well beside,

With heat and thirst opprest.
"Thou art a Jew," she said,
"And
asketh drink of me?
Samaria's daughter was not bred
To deal with
such as thee."
She would not yield a sip
E'en if its maker sued,

While he from love, with thirsting lip,
Sought and her heart renewed.

He made her ask for life,
Eternal life through him,
And "living
water" was the type
To her perception dim.
O yes! She fain would

taste
And never thirst again,
And never cross the burning waste
In
weariness and pain!
Her life he questioned now;
Revealed her
history.
She must have blushed. How could he know?
Here was a mystery!

Abashed she now replied,
"Thou art a prophet, sir!"
And
straightway sought with clannish pride
Instruction's voice to hear;

Instruction that will bless
The world each passing day,
For every
spot man's feet may press,
There may he praise and pray.
The
woman lent her ear,
Then urged Messiah's plea.
Amazing words she
now doth hear,
"I that speak unto thee am he."
What joy! The
angels too
Must share it from above.
She left her water-pot, and
flew
On feet made swift by love.
Oh, will these tidings last?
This
news, it must be spread!
"He knows my present, knows my past;

This is the Christ," she said.
That woman lost in sin
Drank of the
living spring,
Then swiftly sped dead souls to win,
And to that
fountain bring.
Forbid that we should shrink
To publish grace so free,
For all who
will that tide may drink
And live eternally.
They begged that he would stay,
Believed the truths unfurled,
And
joyfully received that day
The Saviour of the world.
JESUS INTERCEDES
Seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.--Hebrews 7:25.
When winding up the path of life,
Sometimes mid thorns, sometimes
mid flowers,
Oft weary of its toil and strife,
Oft weary of its wintry
hours,
There is one thought than all more sweet
From care my
longing heart to free;
'Tis this--oh, wondrous to repeat--
That Jesus
intercedes for me.
And always when the path is steep,
I cling unto this wayside rope:


Nothing can give so great relief,
Nothing can give a brighter hope.

'Tis like a stately spreading palm,
Which forms my spirit's canopy,

'Neath which I breathe the soothing balm
That Jesus intercedes for
me.
And when I reach the sea of death,
To sail its silent waters o'er,

This thought shall calm my latest breath
And waft me to the golden
shore.
Not only that my Savior died,
The atoning lamb on Calvary,

But--was there ever love so wide?--
Still lives and intercedes for
me.
EVE'S FLOWERS
Eve must have wept to leave her flowers,
And plucked some roots to
tell
Of Eden's happy, sinless bowers,
Where she in bliss did dwell.
Roses and lilies, pansies gay,
Violets with azure eyes,
Her favorites
must have been, for they
Seem born in paradise.
And when they drooped, did she not sigh
And kiss their petals fair,

Thinking, "Alas, ye too must die
And in our sorrow share"?
And then perhaps unto her soul
This answer sweet was given,
"Like
you we fade and perish here;
For you we'll bloom in heaven."
Roses and lilies are the type
Of him who from above,
The lamb of
God, gave up his life,
A sacrifice of love.
He was her hope in those sad hours
Of blight and sure decay;
The
sin that drove her from her flowers
His blood could wash away.
COME UNTO ME
"Come unto me!" Ah, gentlest word
E'er breathed in human ear!
"I
am thy Savior and thy Lord;
Dear child, thou need'st not fear.

"Come unto me in sorrow's hour
When life seems dark and drear;

I'll shield thee from the tempter's power;
Dear child, thou need'st not
fear.
"Come unto me when hopes have flown
Like leaves wind-swept and
sere,
When every joy thou may'st bemoan;
Dear child, thou need'st
not fear.
"Come unto me. I'll give thee rest,
Will wipe away each tear;
Come
lean thy head upon my breast;
Dear child, thou need'st not fear."
NOVEMBER
But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice.--Psalm 5:11.
November is so drear and chill
Whilst making leafless branch and
tree,
Whilst sweeping over vale and hill
With all her doleful
minstrelsy.
November wails the summer's death
In such a
melancholy voice,
She has a withering, blighting breath;
She does
not bid the heart rejoice.
Yet why repine, thou stricken one?
Grief is the common fate of all.

This the refrain beneath the sun:
Mortals must die, and leaves must
fall.
They'll live again, the leaves and flowers,
When spring returns
to bless the earth;
They'll waken 'neath her sunny hours
Through
nature's touch to beauteous birth.
Hope in decay and do not moan
That God has taken one we love:

Why should our hearts be turned to stone
When he is safe in heaven
above?
Redeemed through Christ, who was his trust,
With him in
realms of joy on high;
For though down here "'tis dust to dust,"
The
Christian lives beyond the sky.
Then in the autumn's woe rejoice,--
Rejoice in calm, rejoice in storm;

In either hear God's tender voice,
For both his holy will