Kept for the Master's Use Part 10

So, in the centre of these thoughts of G.o.d, Cyclones of power, consuming glory-fire,-- As we fall o'erawed Upon our faces, and are lifted higher By His great gentleness, and carried nigher Than unredeemed angels, till we stand Even in the hollow of His hand, Nay, more! we lean upon His breast-- _There_, there we find a point of perfect rest And glorious safety. There we see His thoughts to usward, thoughts of peace That stoop in tenderest love; that still increase With increase of our need; that never change, That never fail, or falter, or forget O pity infinite!

O royal mercy free!

O gentle climax of the depth and height Of G.o.d's most precious thoughts, most wonderful, most strange!

'For I am poor and needy, yet The Lord Himself, Jehovah, _thinketh upon me_!'

'Free to Serve.'

She chose His service. For the Lord of Love Had chosen her, and paid the awful price For her redemption; and had sought her out, And set her free, and clothed her gloriously, And put His royal ring upon her hand, And crowns of loving-kindness on her head.

She chose it. Yet it seemed she could not yield The fuller measure other lives could bring; For He had given her a precious gift, A treasure and a charge to prize and keep, A tiny hand, a darling hand, that traced On her heart's tablet words of golden love.

And there was not much room for other lines, For time and thought were spent (and rightly spent, For He had given the charge), and hours and days Were concentrated on the one dear task.

But He had need of her. Not one new gem But many for His crown;--not one fair sheaf, But many, she should bring. And she should have A richer, happier harvest-home at last.

Because more fruit, more glory and more praise Her life should yield to Him. And so He came, The Master came Himself, and gently took The little hand in His, and gave it room Among the angel-harpers. Jesus came And laid His own hand on the quivering heart, And made it very still, that He might write Invisible words of power--'Free to serve!'

Then through the darkness and the chill He sent A heat-ray of His love, developing The mystic writing, till it glowed and shone And lit up all her life with radiance new,-- The happy service of a yielded heart.

With comfort that He never ceased to give (Because her need could never cease) she filled The empty chalices of other lives, And time and thought were thenceforth spent for Him Who loved her with His everlasting love.

Let Him write what He will upon our hearts, With His unerring pen. They are His own, Hewn from the rock by His selecting grace, Prepared for His own glory. Let Him write!

Be sure He will not cross out one sweet word But to inscribe a sweeter,--but to grave One that shall s.h.i.+ne for ever to His praise, And thus fulfil our deepest heart-desire.

The tearful eye at first may read the line, 'Bondage to grief!' But He shall wipe away The tears, and clear the vision, till it read In ever-brightening letters, 'Free to serve!'

For whom the Son makes free is free indeed.

Nor only by reclaiming His good gifts, But by withholding, doth the Master write These words upon the heart. Not always needs Erasure of some blessed line of love For this more blest inscription. Where He finds A tablet empty for the 'lines left out,'

That 'might have been' engraved with human love And sweetest human cares, yet never bore That poetry of life, His own dear hand Writes 'Free to serve!' And these clear characters Fill with fair colours all the unclaimed s.p.a.ce, Else grey and colourless.

Then let it be The motto of our lives until we stand In the great freedom of Eternity, Where we '_shall_ serve Him' while we see His face, For ever and for ever 'Free to serve.'

Coming to the King.

2 Chronicles ix. 1-12.

I came from very far away to see The King of Salem; for I had been told Of glory and of wisdom manifold, And condescension infinite and free.

How could I rest, when I had heard His fame, In that dark lonely land of death from whence I came?

I came (but not like Sheba's queen), alone!

No stately train, no costly gifts to bring; No friend at court, save One, that One the King!

I had requests to spread before His throne, And I had questions none could solve for me, Of import deep, and full of awful mystery.

I came and communed with that mighty King, And told Him all my heart; I cannot say, In mortal ear, what communings were they.

But wouldst thou know, go too, and meekly bring All that is in thy heart, and thou shalt hear His voice of love and power, His answers sweet and clear.

O happy end of every weary quest!

He told me all I needed, graciously;-- Enough for guidance, and for victory O'er doubts and fears, enough for quiet rest; And when some veiled response I could not read, It was not hid from Him,--this was enough indeed.

His wisdom and His glories pa.s.sed before My wondering eyes in gradual revelation; The house that He had built, its strong foundation, Its living stones; and, brightening more and more, Fair glimpses of that palace far away, Where all His loyal ones shall dwell with Him for aye.

True the report that reached my far-off land Of all His wisdom and transcendent fame; Yet I believed not until I came,-- Bowed to the dust till raised by royal hand.

The half was never told by mortal word; My King exceeded all the fame that I had heard!

Oh, happy are His servants! happy they Who stand continually before His face, Ready to do His will of wisest grace!

My King! is mine such blessedness to-day?

For I too hear Thy wisdom, line by line, Thy ever brightening words in holy radiance s.h.i.+ne.

Oh, blessed be the Lord thy G.o.d, who set Our King upon His throne! Divine delight In the Beloved crowning Thee with might, Honour, and majesty supreme; and yet The strange and G.o.dlike secret opening thus,-- The kings.h.i.+p of His Christ ordained through love to us!

What shall I render to my glorious King?

I have but that which I receive from Thee; And what I give, Thou givest back to me, Trans.m.u.ted by Thy touch; each worthless thing Changed to the preciousness of gem or gold, And by Thy blessing multiplied a thousand fold.

All my desire Thou grantest, whatsoe'er I ask! Was ever mythic tale or dream So bold as this reality,--this stream Of boundless blessings flowing full and free?

Yet more than I have thought or asked of Thee, Out of Thy royal bounty still Thou givest me.

Now I will turn to my own land, and tell What I myself have seen and heard of Thee.

And give Thine own sweet message, 'Come and see!'

And yet in heart and mind for ever dwell With Thee, my King of Peace, in loyal rest, Within the fair pavilion of Thy presence blest.

'Surely in what place my Lord the King shall be, whether in death or life, even there also will thy servant be.'--2 _Sam._ xv. 21.

'Where I am, there shall also my servant be.'--_John_ xii. 26.

The Two Paths.

Via Dolorosa and Via Giojosa.

[_Suggested by a Picture._]

My Master, they have wronged Thee and Thy love!

They only told me I should find the path A Via Dolorosa all the way!

Even Thy sweetest singers only sang Of pressing onward through the same sharp thorns, With bleeding footsteps, through the chill dark mist, Following and struggling till they reach the light, The rest, the suns.h.i.+ne of the far beyond.

The anthems of the pilgrimage were set In most pathetic minors, exquisite, Yet breathing sadness more than any praise; Thy minstrels let the fitful breezes make aeolian moans on their entrusted harps, Until the listeners thought that this was all The music Thou hadst given. And so the steps That halted where the two ways met and crossed, The broad and narrow, turned aside in fear, Thinking the radiance of their youth must pa.s.s In sombre shadows if they followed Thee; Hearing afar such echoes of one strain, The cross, the tribulation, and the toil, The conflict, and the clinging in the dark.

What wonder that the dancing feet are stayed From entering the only path of peace!

Master, forgive them! Tune their harps anew, And put a new song in their mouths for Thee, And make Thy chosen people joyful in Thy love.

Lord Jesus, Thou hast trodden once for all The Via Dolorosa,--and for us!

No artist power or minstrel gift may tell The cost to Thee of each unfaltering step, When love that pa.s.seth knowledge led Thee on, Faithful and true to G.o.d, and true to us.

And now, beloved Lord, Thou callest us To follow Thee, and we will take Thy word About the path which Thou hast marked for us.

Narrow indeed it is! Who does not choose The narrow track upon the mountain side, With ever-widening view, and freshening air, And honeyed heather, rather than the road, With smoothest breadth of dust and loss of view, Soiled blossoms not worth gathering, and the noise Of wheels instead of silence of the hills, Or music of the waterfalls? Oh, why Should they misrepresent Thy words, and make 'Narrow' synonymous with 'very hard'?

For Thou, Divinest Wisdom, Thou hast said Thy ways are ways of pleasantness, and all Thy paths are peace; and that the path of him Who wears Thy perfect robe of righteousness Is as the light that s.h.i.+neth more and more Unto the perfect day. And Thou hast given An olden promise, rarely quoted now,[footnote: Job xxvi. 15.]

Because it is too bright for our weak faith: 'If they obey and serve Him, they shall spend Days in prosperity, and they shall spend Their years in pleasures.' All because Thy days Were full of sorrow, and Thy lonely years Were pa.s.sed in grief's acquaintance--all for us!

Master, I set my seal that Thou art true, Of Thy good promise not one thing hath failed!