Part 8

Men whose hearts would flow together, Though apart their feet might roam, Found a tie they could not sever, In the mem'ry of each home.

Never may the steps of carnage Shake our land from shore to shore, But may mother, home and Heaven, Be our watchwords evermore.

THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE GOD.

They shall see Him in the crimson flush Of morning's early light, In the drapery of sunset, Around the couch of night.

THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE GOD. 29

When the clouds drop down their fatness, In late and early rain, They shall see His glorious footprints On valley, hill and plain.

They shall see Him when the cyclone Breathes terror through the land; They shall see Him 'mid the murmurs Of zephyrs soft and bland.

They shall see Him when the lips of health, Breath vigor through each nerve, When pestilence clasps hands with death, His purposes to serve.

They shall see Him when the trembling earth Is rocking to and fro; They shall see Him in the order The seasons come and go.

They shall see Him when the storms of war Sweep wildly through the land; When peace descends like gentle dew They still shall see His hand.

They shall see Him in the city Of gems and pearls of light,

30 NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.

They shall see Him in his beauty, And walk with Him in white.

To living founts their feet shall tend, And Christ shall be their guide, Beloved of God, their rest shall be In safety by His side.

HE "HAD NOT WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD."

The conies had their hiding-place, The wily fox with stealthy tread A covert found, but Christ, the Lord, Had not a place to lay his head.

The eagle had an eyrie home, The blithesome bird its quiet rest, But not the humblest spot on earth Was by the Son of God possessed.

Princes and kings had palaces, With grandeur could adorn each tomb, For Him who came with love and life, They had no home, they gave no room.

GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD. 31

The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy Through nerves unstrung and palsied frame, The feet that travelled for our need, Were nailed unto the cross of shame.

How dare I murmur at my lot, Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss, When Christ was in a manger laid, And died in anguish on the cross.

That homeless one beheld beyond His lonely agonizing pain, A love outflowing from His heart, That all the wandering world would gain.

GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD.

Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord, And gather the bruised grain; But the reapers had left the stubble bare, And I trod the soil in pain.

32 GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD.

The fields of my Lord are wide and broad, He has pastures fair and green, And vineyards that drink the golden light Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.

I heard the joy of the reapers' song, As they gathered golden grain; Then wearily turned unto my task, With a lonely sense of pain.

Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare, And sought the quiet shade, And over my dim and weary eyes Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.