SOME six or seven years ago —
It seems but as a span —
As I was trav’lling up to town,
I met a worthy man.
He had a grave but gracious face
Of weather-beaten hue;
He carried well his threescore years,
And wore the naval blue.
Believers both, of Christ we spake,
His boundless love and grace,
And of the bright and blessed hope
Of seeing soon His face.
Then told he of his chequer’d life
Since he to sea had been;
Of tempests, wrecks, hair-breadth escapes,
And dangers he had seen.
For forty years had he sail’d o’er
The restless raging main,
And now, said he, would he no more
Go out to sea again:
A sailor’s life was hard and rough,
He car’d no more to roam,
And, having wander’d long enough,
He’d anchor now at home.
Then, sailor-like, he told his mind,
And open’d out his plan,
In such a free, confiding way,
One could but love the man.
He long had toil’d, and sigh’d for rest,
And strong was his desire
To settle in his native place,
And now would he retire.
His sons and daughters were upgrown,
And could their burden bear;
They needed not their father’s help,
Nor now a mother’s care.
So he should choose a pleasant spot
In some sequester’d scene,
And look him out a cozy cot
Where fields were fresh and green;
And there himself and ailing wife
In peace would pass their days,
And crown the closing years of life
With gratitude and praise.
I smil’d, yet sigh’d, to see his glow,
And tried, in tones of love,
To lead his thoughts from dreams below
To fadeless joys above;
And though my words might not prevail
His ardent heart to reach,
His God and rather, well I knew,
His child would train and teach.
Then, soon we parted, each his way,
With words of kind adieu,
Till we should meet some future day,
Our converse to renew.
* * * *
The ways of God are strangely wise;
He orders each event,
Prepares the arrow ere it flies,
And gives the bow its bent.
A few days thence my friend I found
O’erborne by trouble’s billow,
His body with affliction bound,
His head upon his pillow.
The very day that we had met,
He home return’d in pain,
And never from his bed arose
To walk the earth again.
‘Twas sad to see the burly man
By dire disease oppress’d,
But sadder still the saint to see
In spirit sore distress’d.
A heavy cloud hung o’er his soul,
The shade of unbelief,
Which hid from him the Light above,
And bow’d his heart in grief.
His cherish’d hope and pleasing scheme
Of making here a nest,
Had vanish’d like an empty dream,
And mock’d him like a jest.
He had forsaken (who has not?)
The Fountain-Head of old,
And found that broken cisterns could
No living water hold.
But God is good and merciful,
And having prov’d His child,
And shown the folly of his heart
In being thus beguil’d;
He pour’d the beams of Love Divine
So brightly o’er his soul,
That clouds and mists all pass’d away,
As far as pole from pole.
And now his fancies all had fled,
And faith regain’d its grasp,
His mind on things above was set,
And held them like a clasp.
The Lord did not detain him long
In suff’ring here below,
But took him to Himself above,
Beyond the reach of woe.
With calmness he the world resign’ d,
His Father’s love confess’d;
His setting sun serenely shone,
And thus he went to rest.
And there above with Christ the Lord,
Where all is bright and fair,
He has the longing of his heart,
And breathes his native air.
His fancy for a rural cot
Was but a wayward whim;
For him had Christ a better lot,
A bless’d abode with Him.
The fairest flowers that bloom on earth
Are born but to decay;
But pleasures of celestial birth
Can never fade away.
And till the Lord Himself shall come
To take us all above,
With Him he waits for that blest day,
Reposing in His love.
* * * *
What joy and blessing to our souls
The ways of God to trace,
Who has not only sent His Son,
But keeps us by His grace;
Restoring all, who go astray,
To truer, greater strength,
Bestowing mercy day by day,
And bringing home at length.
Then let us all His love proclaim
With sweet and glad accord,
And worship His most holy name,
Declar’d in Christ the Lord.
T.