Chapter 2

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.

BARTIMÆUS

"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 he heard aright? Oh, was the heavenly healer nigh, He who could give the blind their sight? "Jesus, have mercy!" lo, he cried, "Oh, son of David, pity me!" And when the jeering crowd deride, His accents form a clearer plea. Jesus stood still. A kindly voice Bade him good cheer--"He calleth thee." Thus must his lonely heart rejoice, "He thinks of me; yes, even me!" Bartimæus found the Living Light Who asked and granted his request. His blinded eyes received their sight; With joy he followed with the rest. How oft when Jesus passes by, The heart-blind hear but don't perceive, Else how they would for mercy cry Ere Christ their Lord should take his leave! Like him of whom this story's told They'd pray, "Lord Jesus, pity me!" And find his power and love could fold Them here and in eternity.

ZACCHÆUS

_Jesus entered and passed through Jericho._--Luke 19:1-10.

City of palms! whose ancient name Suggests a line of scarlet hue, Type of thy glorious Guest who came And passed with crowds thy borders through, Did aught foretell that on that day, The Lord of life would favor thee, And centuries ring the novel way A soul was made both glad and free?

Zacchæus knew that through thy gates Came One he oft had longed to see; Alas! how adverse were the fates-- So dense the throng, so small was he! Considering, he ran before And climbed into a wayside tree, And ever since the sycamore Is blended with his history.

While peering eagerly below, Above the tumult of the town That soothing voice to mortal woe Bade him to hasten quickly down. "Come," Jesus said, "I must abide And tarry at thy house with thee." Zacchæus the honor swift applied, And entertained him joyfully.

The people frowned that Christ should dine With a rich sinner publican, Nor knew his act of grace would shine, A star of hope, to fallen man. Zacchæus assured his royal guest, "Lord, half my goods I give the poor; And if I falsely have opprest, Fourfold I unto men restore."

His listener reads the human heart And all its thoughts unerringly; Alone such wisdom can impart And judge of its sincerity. Jesus received this sin-sick soul, Salvation to his house was given; And while time's cycles onward roll, His faith and works will point toward heaven.

"I came," the Lord of glory said (Nor did he count the pain and cost), "To feed the hungry soul with bread, To seek and save that which was lost."

APRIL

When April weeps, she wakes the flowers That slept the winter through. Oh, did they dream those frosty hours That she would be untrue And not awaken them in time To smile their smiles of love, To hear the robin's merry chime, And gentle cooing dove?

And when they feel their mother's tears So gently o'er them weep, Will they tell her of their simple fears And visions while asleep? And will they tell her that they dreamed, Beneath their sheets of snow, Such weary dreamings that it seemed The winter ne'er would go?

They'll soon be wide-awake and up, In dainty robes arrayed, Blue violet, gold buttercup, And quaker-lady staid. Wild eglantine and clustering thorn Will grace the byway lanes, Whilst woodland flowers the dells adorn And daisies cheer the plains.

The rippling streamlet soon will be A crystal mirror bright For waving branch and mint and tree That nod in golden light Of summer sunbeams glad'ning rays Filling the heart with love, While nature and earth, uniting, praise The God who reigns above.

In lowly spots will lilies spring And scent the summer breeze, And on the earth there'll be no king Arrayed like one of these. So weeping April's tears will bring Her children from the tomb, Will dress the earth in robes of spring, Brightened by fragrant bloom.

BETHLEHEM

_Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea._--Matthew 2:1.

Bethlehem, where Christ was born, Bethlehem, the Christian's star! Bethlehem's prophetic morn Echoed ages from afar. Where the shepherds heard the song Heralding the holy birth, Tidings that would right the wrong, News of joy from heaven to earth.

This the song the angels sang: "Peace on earth, good will to men." Glory in the highest rang, Glory now and glory then. Christ, the king of earth and heaven, Gave himself to cleanse our sin; Through his blood we are forgiven And eternal life may win.

Come to him with every woe; He has said, "Come unto me." Better refuge none can know Whither to safely, gladly flee. Well may hallelujahs ring O'er God's gift from heaven above; Yet, although the angels sing, Angels cannot tell his love.

NATURE'S LESSON

We traveled by a mountain's edge, It was September calm and bright, Nature had decked its rocky ledge With flowers of varied hue and height. It seemed a miracle that they Should flourish in that meager soil, As noble spirits oftenest may Gleam forth through poverty and toil.

Below were rippling, sparkling streams Through meadows kissed by shadowy hills, Reflecting autumn's peaceful dreams Within those swift, translucent rills. This lesson should these scenes impart As on the road of life we go, To do our duty and take heart, As flowers bloom and streamlets flow.

Perhaps in ages yet to be May flowers wave here e'en as today, These streams still rush in merry glee To cheer and charm who here may stray; But we upon Time's rapid tide Like morning mists will disappear; But if by faith to Christ allied, Heaven's glory is both sure and clear.

We look from Nature to her God; We feel his presence from above; We know that when the earth he trod, He preached through her his wondrous love. What is there in our flitting years With this pure treasure can compare? His love can wipe away our tears, His love can lighten every care.

THE MIGRATORY SWANS

A necklace in the depth of blue Of scintillating, silvery pearls, Which peering eagerly we view As gracefully it curves and whirls, Safely and swiftly, far away They seek the groves of date and lime; Naught can arrest and naught dismay From heights so lofty and sublime.

In dreams alone their wintry home Can haunt them with its ice and snow; Mingled with visions as they come Of shimmering waves where lilies grow And open lakes are fresh and clear, Fit mirror for a plumaged breast, Shaded by moss-grown trees. 'Tis here They'll dip and dive in gleeful rest.

Vanished! and vainly do we try To trace upon the distant air That scroll which written on the sky Told of the hand which led them there. Could we upon our heavenward way From tempting snares as far remove And be as disenthralled as they, We'd plainer show a guiding love.

We skim too closely to the earth, We press too slowly for the prize, Let thoughts and cares of trivial worth Retard our journey to the skies. Oh, let us watch and pray to have A loftier flight from transient things, Inspired like swans at last to lave In streams of bliss our wearied wings!

MINISTERING WOMEN

_And Joanna, the wife of Chuza, Herod's steward, and Susanna and many others who ministered unto him of their substance._--Luke 8:3. Mark 14:3-9. John 12:3-8. Matthew 26:6-13. Luke 7:37-50. John 11:3.

Those women who their Christ and Lord Aided by gentle ministry, Have gained their race a rich reward, Treasured in sacred history.

Joanna is unknown at court, Although entitled to be there; The record of her life's report In fadeless glory has its share.

Susanna's name is intertwined, A gem as sparkling and as clear As those with which it is enshrined; And this is all we know of her.

And those whose names have not been given Are now in realms of light and love, Praising him mid the choirs of heaven, Crowned with his joy and peace and love.

Mary of Magdala was brought From mysteries strange and dark and drear To heights with joy and gladness fraught; She radiates a luster clear.

Those chimes from Bethany will ring With power that will not, cannot die; Martha's and Mary's names will sing Long as the flitting centuries fly.

That spikenard, which 'twas wholly meet Mary should pour upon his head, Has filled with fragrance rare and sweet Succeeding ages as they've fled.

And when a critic standing near Censured her act, misunderstood, Christ spoke so that the world might hear; He said, "She hath done what she could."

This her memorial while the sun Traverses the blue dome of heaven, Fulfilling while time's cycles run Christ's prophecy which then was given.

Unto the end these faithful few, Regardless of all pain and loss, Did what their hearts and hands could do, Though bowed with wonder at the cross.

Such love they could not understand, Such love unto his latest breath; That love had our redemption planned Both in his life and in his death.

They haunt the tomb in which he lay, Grief-stricken, desolate, and lone; But Magdalene at break of day Found that her precious charge was gone.

Two angels said, "Why weepest thou?" The angels knew ere they inquired. They knew her heart could triumph now, These sinless ones by love inspired.

She, weeping, told her loss and woe, Then answered thus a questioner near: "Sir, if thou dost his refuge know, Tell me. I seek him vainly here."

"Mary!" She listened to her name Uttered by Christ, her risen Lord. "Master?" her trembling lips exclaim, Then wondered, worshipped, and adored.

Her joy is ours! Oh, may we see That joy more plainly every day! Christ lives and loves eternally,-- Swift feet such tidings should convey.

Eternal life and heavenly rest He purchased by death's agony, That whosoever will be blest With glorious immortality.

May we our sisters of the past In life and character revere, Like them be faithful to the last, Like them be loving and sincere.

First must the gospel plan of love To every land and tribe be given, Ere He'll return who from above Is God's best gift to earth from heaven.

THAT JEWISH LAD

_There is a lad here which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes._--John 6:9.

He must have been a thoughtful youth, His name the record has not given, But if his heart imbibed the truth, 'Tis written in the books of heaven. A cipher in the multitude, He followed with his meager store, And far from his perception crude The miracle that made it more.

With loaves and fishes few, this lad By power and aid of one divine Has made the hungry thousands glad And God's providing power to shine. When at the midweek hour of prayer Ye faithful mourn your number few, Pray He who fed that throng be there Your faith and vigor to renew.

He will your meek petitions hear Which, like those loaves and fishes small, Will cause his glory to appear In showers of blessing that will fall. The centuries are sweeping by, Bearing their millions gay and sad, And wafting those to realms on high Who follow with that Jewish lad.

IN SINCERITY

_Grace be with them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity._--Ephesians 6:24.

Thou saddened one whose longing eyes Seek quickening thoughts to glean, Whose views of Christ, the Heavenly prize, Clouds often veer between, That rapture which may be expressed By others constantly Is not thine own; in truth confessed, Where is the mystery?

Ask now these questions of thy soul: My heart, is it sincere? Do I his holy name extol, And is He truly dear? Like Peter can I, too, record And urge his earnest plea, "Thou knowest all things, gracious Lord; Thou knowest I love Thee"?

There is no music like his voice: To this can'st thou attest? No message makes thee so rejoice As "Come to me and rest"? If there's been left within thine heart By word or deed a thorn, Can prayer extract the cruel dart And heal it ere the morn?

Does prayer cast out disquietude And every bitter thought; All hate and enmity exclude By Love with patience fraught? Or, if perchance there may be found A hurt that festers still, Is this the balm that soothes the wound-- "'Twas needed; 'tis God's will"?

Is there a saint, however poor, However lowly born, That earthly treasure could allure Thee to mistreat or scorn? These queries, are they answered well? Then press with joy toward Heaven, Filled with that peace tongue cannot tell, The sense of sin forgiven.

Accept your Saviour's proffered rest! Behold! there's grace for thee; All those who love Him now are blest,-- Love in sincerity.

THEY'RE COMING!

They're coming! And it seems so long Since sadly autumn laid them low. They left us with the robin's song, They left us to the ice and snow.

They're coming! So the March wind saith. Though singing songs with icy breath, He's chanting of another May, He's chanting of King Winter's death.

They're coming! 'Neath the forest's mold, In mossy beds of ferny soil, Slowly their tiny robes unfold, Yet do they neither spin nor toil.

They're coming! With their influence pure, Their emblematic power again Of him who would our steps allure To realms of love, devoid of pain.

They're coming! With the summer's breeze, With azure skies and sunny showers, With notes of birds and hum of bees-- Who will not welcome back the flowers?