Heart Songs. Jean Blewett

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Who would not be with Peter now?

       Blue heaven above, and earth below,

       So near to God, so far away

       From sin, and wretchedness, and woe.

       Before his eyes—gone, every doubt—

       The glory of the skies spread out.

      But hark! men knock upon the door,

       And voices call, and not in vain,

       For Peter comes down to the earth,

       And takes his life-work up again,

       Down from the fullness to the need,

       From God to man, a change indeed.

      We fain would on the housetop be,

       We fain would hold communion sweet,

       But looking up, we never heed

       The work unfinished at our feet.

       God, give to us, we humbly ask,

       Strength for the vision and the task.

The World is Growing Old

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      I AM so weary, Master dear,

       So very weary of the road

       That I have travelled, year by year,

       Bearing along life’s heavy load,

       It is so long, it is so steep,

       This highway leading to the skies,

       And shadows now begin to creep,

       And sleep lies heavy on my eyes.

      I am so weary, Master dear,

       So very weary of the road,

       I pray I may be very near

       That snow-white City built of God,

       Where pain and heart-ache have not strayed,

       Where nought is known but peace and rest,

       Where thy dear hands have ready made

       A place for e’en the humblest guest.

      But come thou closer, Master dear,

       My weakness makes me sore dismayed,

       O, let me whisper in thine ear,

       For I am troubled and afraid.

       What if my soul its way should miss

       Between this and the world above,

       And never share the perfect bliss

       Provided by thy tender love?

      But lo, He speaketh at my side

       So close I feel His shelt’ring touch,

       “Thou art my guest, can harm betide One called of me, and known as such? Dear child, the journey is not long, Thy heart need not to fear or shrink An opening door, an angel’s song— Oh, heaven is nearer than you think!

At Dawn

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      I CANNOT echo the old wish to die at morn, as darkness strays!

       We have been glad together greeting some new-born and radiant days,

       The earth would hold me, every day familiar things

       Would weight me fast,

       The stir, the touch of morn, the bird that on swift wings

       Goes flitting past.

       Some flower would lift to me its tender tear-wet face, and send its breath

       To whisper of the earth, its beauty and its grace,

       And combat death.

       It would be light, and I would see in thy dear eyes

       The sorrow grow.

       Love, could I lift my own undimmed to paradise

       And leave thee so!

       A thousand chords would hold me down to this low sphere,

       When thou didst grieve;

       Ah! should death come upon morn’s rosy breast, I fear

       I’d crave reprieve.

       But when her gold all spent, the sad day takes her flight,

       When shadows creep,

       Then just to put my hand in thine and say, “Good night,”

       And fall asleep.

She

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      A WOMAN who knows how to droop

       Her eyes before the world’s bold gaze,

       And teach, by silence, just how near

       That world dare venture to her ways.

       A woman who knows how to lift

       Her eyes to mine without dismay—

       For innocence is might—

       And say that wrong is wrong alway,

       That right and truth are best alway,

       Eyes heaven-lit and clear, to-night

       I’ll take, if for my own I may,

       The creed you hold—the right!

The Two Marys

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