The Mountain Spring and Other Poems Part 7

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 mult.i.tude, 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 G.o.d's providing power to s.h.i.+ne.

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 pet.i.tions 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 G.o.d'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?