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Show St. Jobn, the JlQid. I I'm growing very old. This weary head j That hath so often leaned on Jesus breast. In days long past that se-em almost a dream, Is bent and hoary with its weight of years. j These limbs that followed him, my Mas- ter. oft, ' I From Galilee to Judah; Yea. that stood Beneath the Cross and trembled with his groans. Refuse to bear mo even through the streets, To preach unto my cnildren. E en my hps Refuse to form the word3 my heart sends forth. , , My ears are dull; they scarcely hear the sobs Of my dear children, gathered round my couch. . ., . My eyes so dim thoy cannot see their tears. , TI. God lays H'is hand upon me lea His And not lfis rod the gentle hand that I Felt tho.re three years so often pressed j in mine . In friendship such as passeth woman s love. I'm old. so old. I cannot recollect The faces of mv friends, and I forget The words and deeds that make up daily life; , . TT But that dear face and every word He ppoke. Grow mere distinct a? others fade away. So that I live with Iiim and th' holy dead More than with th' living. . Some seventy years ago I was a fisher by the sacred sea. It was at sunset. How the tranquil tide Bathe'J clrennily the pebbUis; how the Crept'up the distant hills, and in its wake Soft purple shadows wrapped the dreary fields, And then He came and called me, tnen I gazed t , ! For the first time on tnat sweet face. Trios cy?3 From o'-'-t of which as from a window, I shone ' , Divinitv, looked on my inmost Soul, And lighted It forever. Then His words Broke on the silence of my heart and made . , . , The whole world musical. Incarnate love Took hold of mo and claimed me for its own. , , . . . u I followed in the twilignt, holding fast His mantle. Oh what holy walks we had Thro' harvest fields, and desolate, dreary wastes: And oftentimes He leaned upon my arm Wearied and wayworn, 1 was young and strong And so up-bore Him. Lord, now I am weak. And Old and feeble. Let me rest on Thee, So put thine arm around me. Closer stili: How strong Thou art. The twilight draws apace. Come, let us leave these noisy streets and take . The path to Bethany, for Mary s smile Awaits us at the gate, and Martha's hands Have long prepared the cheerful evening meal. Come. J.imeis the Master waits anr? P- i " ter. see. Has gone some steps before. fi What say you. friends? That this is Kphesus. and Christ has pone Rack to His Kingdom? Ay! "Tis so, "tu so; , I know it ali; and yet ju.s-: now 1 s-med ! To stand once in'. re upon my native hills ; And touch fiiy Master; Oh. h'.v oft I've The toLic-hinir of His garments bring back i sirengin i T- raiMt-l limbs; I feel it has to mine. L'p bear me once more, to my church once more There lot me tell them of 1 Savior's love. For by tho sweetness of my Master': ' " voice Just now think He mut bo verv near Coming. I trust, to break the veil which, time Has worn so thin that T can seo beyond And watch his footsteps. So nti.-e up my head. How dark it is; f rann.it seem to see The f.-.ce. of my tlock. Is that the sen. That murmurs so. or is it weeping? Hush: My little Hiiidrea; God so loved the world He gave His Son; so love ye one another. Love Cod i-nd man. A men. Now be-ar ms hark. I My legacy unto an ar.trry world is this. I 1 feel my work is li:u.--he!d. Are tho streets so full? What call the folks my na.me? The lioiy John. Nay. write mo rather Jesus Christ's beloved. be-loved. And lover of my children. Lay mo down Once more upon tny couch and open wide Tne eastern window. See; there comes a lignt i Like that which dropped upon my soul at eve. When in the dreary Isle of Patnws Gabriel Ga-briel came And touched me on the shoulder. See, it grows. As w aen we meurited to the pearly gates. I know th-j way; I trod it once before. And hark: It is the song the ransomed 1 sang Of glory to the Lamb. How loud it sounds! I And that unwritten methinks my soul j Can join it now. But who are these who crowd ! The shining wav? Oh. joy it is the eleven i With Peter first, how eagerly he looks. How bright tho smiles aro beaming on James' face. I am tho last. Once more we are complete com-plete To gather 'round the Tasc-hal feast. My P'"ice Is next my M-ter. O my Lord! My Lord! How I r'ght thou art and yet tho .very same' I love. A in Gallilee. 'Tis worth the hundred hun-dred year , To feel this bliss: So lift me up, .dear Lord Unto ti-.y bosom full of per'ect peace. Author L'nknown. ; T ? ! |