Too oft o'erlooketh on his prosperous way.
Meekly he bowed, nor cast a wandering glance
Toward kingly scutcheon, or emblazoned arms
Of prince and peer, but listened earnestly,
As for his life, to what the King of kings
Commanded or forbade. When solemnly
The deep responsive litany invoked
Aid and deliverance by the agony
And cross of Christ, his trembling hands he raised
Horny, and brown with labor, while a tear
Crept slowly down its furrowed path.
Old Man!
Thou hast within thee that which shall survive
This temple's wreck, and if aright I read
Our Master's spirit in thy moistened eye,
That which shall wear a crown, when earthly thrones
Have name no more.
And then we knelt us down
Around the altar, in that solemn feast
Which Jesus in his dark betrayal-night
Enjoined on his disciples. There we took
The broken bread and cup, remembering Him
In all his lowliness, in all his love,
Who sought the straying sheep.
So lift thy crook,
Shepherd Divine! that we may follow thee
Where'er thou will'st to lead, nor miss thy fold,
When the slant beams of life's declining day
Call home the wanderers to eternal rest.
York, Monday, October 5, 1840.
