“Fishers of Men.”
I had a dream, a varied dream:
Before my ravished sight
The city of my Lord arose,
With all its love and light.
The music of a myriad harps
Flowed out with sweet accord;
And saints were casting down their crowns
In homage to our Lord.
“FISHERS OF MEN.” 83
My heart leaped up with untold joy,
Life’s toil and pain were o’er;
My weary feet at last had found
The bright and restful shore.
Just as I reached the gates of light,
Ready to enter in,
From earth arose a fearful cry
Of sorrow and of sin.
I turned, and saw behind me surge
A wild and stormy sea;
And drowning men were reaching out
Imploring hands to me.
And ev’ry lip was blanched with dread,
And moaning for relief;
The music of the golden harps
Grew fainter for their grief.
Let me return, I quickly said,
Close to the pearly gate;
My work is with these wretched ones,
So wrecked and desolate.
An angel smiled and gently said:
This is the gate of life,
Wilt thou return to earth’s sad scenes,
Its weariness and strife,
84 Signing the Pledge
To comfort hearts that sigh and break,
To dry the falling tear,
Wilt thou forego the music sweet
Entrancing now thy ear?
I must return, I firmly said,
The strugglers in that sea
Shall not reach out beseeching hands
In vain for help to me.
I turned to go; but as I turned
The gloomy sea grew bright,
And from my heart there seemed to flow
Ten thousand cords of light.
And sin-wrecked men, with eager hands
Did grasp each golden cord;
And with my heart I drew them on
To see my gracious Lord.
Again I stood beside the gate.
My heart was glad and free;
For with me stood a rescued throng
The Lord had given me.
The Lost Bells. 85
The Lost Bells
Year after year the artist wrought
With earnest, loving care,
The music flooding all his soul
To pour upon the air.
For this no metal was too rare,
He counted not the cost;
Nor deemed the years in which he toiled
As labor vainly lost.
When morning flushed with crimson light
The golden gates of day,
He longed to fill the air with chimes
Sweet as a matin’s lay.
And when the sun was sinking low
Within the distant West,
He gladly heard the bells he wrought
Herald the hour of rest.
The music of a thousand harps
Could never be so dear
As when those solemn chants and thrills
Fell on his list’ning ear.
He poured his soul into their chimes,
And felt his toil repaid;
He called them children of his soul,
His home a’near them made.
86 The Lost Bells
But evil days came on apace,
War spread his banner wide,
And from his village snatched away
The artist’s love and pride.
At dewy morn and stilly eve
The chimes no more he heard;
With dull and restless agony
His spirit’s depths was stirred.
A weary longing filled his soul,
It bound him like a spell;
He left his home to seek the chimes—
The chimes he loved so well.
Where lofty fanes in grandeur rose,
Upon his ear there fell
No music like the long lost chimes
Of his beloved bell.
And thus he wandered year by year.
Touched by the hand of time,
Seeking to hear with anxious heart
Each well remembered chime.
And to that worn and weary heart
There came a glad surcease:
He heard again the dear old chimes,
And smiled and uttered peace.
The Lost Bells. 87
“The chimes! the chimes!” the old man cried,
“I hear their tones at last;”
A sudden rapture filled his heart,
And all his cares were past.
Yes, peace had come with death’s sweet calm,
His journeying was o’er,
The weary, restless wanderer
Had reached the restful shore.
It may be that he met again,
Enfolded in the air,
The dear old chimes beside the gates
Where all is bright and fair;
That he who crossed and bowed his head
When Angelus was sung
In clearer light touched golden harps
By angel fingers strung.
88 “Do Not Cheer, Men Are Dying.”
“Do Not Cheer, Men Are Dying,” Said Capt. Phillips, in the Spanish-American War
Do not cheer, for men are dying
From their distant homes in pain;
And the restless sea is darkened
By a flood of crimson rain.
Do not cheer, for anxious mothers
Wait and watch in lonely dread;
Vainly waiting for the footsteps
Never more their paths to tread.
Do not cheer, while little children
Gather round the widowed wife,
Wondering why an unknown people
Sought their own dear father’s life.
Do not cheer, for aged fathers
Bend above their staves and weep,
While the ocean sings the requiem
Where their fallen children sleep.
Do not cheer, for lips are paling
On which lay the mother’s kiss;
’Mid the dreadful roar of battle
How that mother’s hand they miss!
“Do Not Cheer, Men Are Dying.” 89
Do not cheer: once joyous maidens,
Who the mazy dance did tread,
Bow their heads in bitter anguish,
Mourning o’er their cherished dead.
Do not cheer while maid and matron
In this strife must bear a part;
While the blow that strikes a soldier
Reaches to some woman’s heart.
Do not cheer till arbitration
O’er the nations holds its sway,
And the century now closing
Ushers in a brighter day.
Do not cheer until the nation
Shall more wise and thoughtful grow
Than to staunch a stream of sorrow
By an avalanche of woe.
Do not cheer until each nation
Sheathes the sword and blunts the spear,
And we sing aloud for gladness:
Lo, the reign of Christ is here,
And the banners of destruction
From the battlefield are furled,
And the peace of God descending
Rests upon a restless world.
90 The Burdens of All
The Burdens of All
We may sigh o’er the heavy burdens
Of the black, the brown and white;
But if we all clasped hands together
The burdens would be more light.
How to solve life’s saddest problems,
Its weariness, want and woe,
Was answered by One who suffered
In Palestine long ago.
He gave from his heart this precept,
To ease the burdens of men,
“As ye would that others do to you
Do ye even so to them.”
Life’s heavy, wearisome burdens
Will change to a gracious trust
When men shall learn in the light of God
To be merciful and just.
Where war has sharpened his weapons,
And slavery masterful had,
Let white and black and brown unite
To build the kingdom of God.
And never attempt in madness
To build a kingdom or state,
Through greed of gold or lust of power,
On the crumbling stones of hate.
The burdens will always he heavy,
The sunshine fade into night,
Till mercy and justice shall cement
The black, the brown and the white.
And earth shall answer with gladness,
The herald angel’s refrain,
When “Peace on earth, good will to men”
Was the burden of their strain.