Poems (Argent)/The Angel of Suffering
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THE ANGEL OF SUFFERING.
IN the calm and starry heavens
Sailed the moon in placid grace,
Downwards looked into my casement,
Gently stroked my weary face.
Wistfully she threw her shadow
'Cross my bed in tender wise,
Lit my room up with a radiance
Borrowed from fair Paradise.
Weeks and months so long and dreary
I had lain upon my bed,
Stricken with a mortal sickness,
And an aching heart and head.
For the beauty of the summer
Was to me an idle tale,
Never more for me would blossom
The sweet lilies of the vale.
Never more the sunny meadows
Decked with buttercups of gold,
Where the trembling wind flower bloometh
With her blossoms manifold.
Never more the voice of waters,
And the beauty of their song,
Charm my spirit into gladness
With their measure deep and strong.
For the heavy hand of sickness
Lay upon me day and night,
I was very sad and weary,
Longing for eternal light.
So I turned me on the pillow,
Sighing, "Lord, how long, how long
Will it be until Thy summons
Heals and makes me well and strong?"
When I heard a gentle footstep
And the fluttering of wings,
And a shining Angel standing
Meekly from the King of kings!
Very sorrowful His features,
Very sweet His brow of light,
As He bent His eyes upon me
In the silence of the night.
In His hand He held a chalice
Dark with bitter waters rife,
Which He said we all must swallow
Ere we gained eternal life.
Round the rim I saw engraven
"Not My will, but Thine be done,"
And a mystic figure bearing
Semblance to God's holy Son.
And the little lambs were folded
Closely to His tender breast,
And the sheep beside the Shepherd
Turned for comfort and for rest.
At the bottom of the goblet
I saw clearly there revealed
Two white wings all purely gathered
Lying on an azure field.
"They are thine," the Angel whispered,
"Thine when grief and pain are o'er
They will bear thy spirit upward
Where no pain shall vex thee more.
They will bear thee through the "valley
Of the shadow' into light,
Far away from earthly sadness
To the land that knows no night.
But the dregs, they will be bitter,
Oh! poor suffering child below,
They will make thine eyelids quiver
With their draughts of deepest woe.
Meekly bow thy head and suffer
Though thine eyes with anguish weep,
Walk beside Christ in the garden,
Close within His footsteps keep.
Fix thy gaze in mute submission
On that holy, spotless One,
Who hath suffered more than mortal
Yet hath prayed 'Thy will be done.'
In our pains He hath a feeling,
In our griefs He hath a part,
Wilt thou then not suffer gladly
Though it pierce thy wayward heart?"
As He spake I looked upon Him,
Till T thought that I could trace
In those pure, unselfish features
Glimpses of a Christ-like face!
Had He come, my loving Saviour,
To His suffering child to bring
This sweet message from my Father,
"Perfected through suffering?"
As T looked the truth flashed through me,
And I murmured o'er and o'er,
"It is He! the risen Saviour,
I will never doubt Him more!"
I could see the cruel thorn pricks
On th' uplifted brow so meek,
Till my soul was pierced with sorrow
With the love it could not speak.
Then I knew my Saviour truly
By His wounded hands and feet,
By His untold look of yearning
And His accents calm and sweet.
Saying, "Thou art sick and weary,
I was weary, too, and faint,
And my heart was broken daily
With a grief no words can paint.
For the whole world mocked My anguish,
None had sorrow like to Mine,
But I bore it uncomplaining
For the sake of souls like thine.
I, thy crucified Redeemer,
Hung upon th' accursed tree,
For the love I bore My people
Who felt only scorn for Me!
Oh! beloved child, the Father
Chastens those He loveth best,
Though His ways seem oft mysterious
Fraught with trouble and unrest.
Wilt thou shrink to drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee?
Well I know the dregs are bitter,
Yet I bid thee drink to Me.
Thou shalt share with Me My glory,
Never any toil or strife
Shall thy spirit know hereafter
In the true and better life
Through the 'valley of the shadow,'
That thy trembling soul alarms,
Thou shalt see the great Physician
Underneath the spreading palms!
And thy feet shall rush to meet Him,
Through the azure of the sky;
Thou shalt know Him from all others
By His look of majesty.
So I bid thee drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee,
Great thy joy to hear hereafter,
'Thou hast done it unto Me!'"
Sailed the moon in placid grace,
Downwards looked into my casement,
Gently stroked my weary face.
Wistfully she threw her shadow
'Cross my bed in tender wise,
Lit my room up with a radiance
Borrowed from fair Paradise.
Weeks and months so long and dreary
I had lain upon my bed,
Stricken with a mortal sickness,
And an aching heart and head.
For the beauty of the summer
Was to me an idle tale,
Never more for me would blossom
The sweet lilies of the vale.
Never more the sunny meadows
Decked with buttercups of gold,
Where the trembling wind flower bloometh
With her blossoms manifold.
Never more the voice of waters,
And the beauty of their song,
Charm my spirit into gladness
With their measure deep and strong.
For the heavy hand of sickness
Lay upon me day and night,
I was very sad and weary,
Longing for eternal light.
So I turned me on the pillow,
Sighing, "Lord, how long, how long
Will it be until Thy summons
Heals and makes me well and strong?"
When I heard a gentle footstep
And the fluttering of wings,
And a shining Angel standing
Meekly from the King of kings!
Very sorrowful His features,
Very sweet His brow of light,
As He bent His eyes upon me
In the silence of the night.
In His hand He held a chalice
Dark with bitter waters rife,
Which He said we all must swallow
Ere we gained eternal life.
Round the rim I saw engraven
"Not My will, but Thine be done,"
And a mystic figure bearing
Semblance to God's holy Son.
And the little lambs were folded
Closely to His tender breast,
And the sheep beside the Shepherd
Turned for comfort and for rest.
At the bottom of the goblet
I saw clearly there revealed
Two white wings all purely gathered
Lying on an azure field.
"They are thine," the Angel whispered,
"Thine when grief and pain are o'er
They will bear thy spirit upward
Where no pain shall vex thee more.
They will bear thee through the "valley
Of the shadow' into light,
Far away from earthly sadness
To the land that knows no night.
But the dregs, they will be bitter,
Oh! poor suffering child below,
They will make thine eyelids quiver
With their draughts of deepest woe.
Meekly bow thy head and suffer
Though thine eyes with anguish weep,
Walk beside Christ in the garden,
Close within His footsteps keep.
Fix thy gaze in mute submission
On that holy, spotless One,
Who hath suffered more than mortal
Yet hath prayed 'Thy will be done.'
In our pains He hath a feeling,
In our griefs He hath a part,
Wilt thou then not suffer gladly
Though it pierce thy wayward heart?"
As He spake I looked upon Him,
Till T thought that I could trace
In those pure, unselfish features
Glimpses of a Christ-like face!
Had He come, my loving Saviour,
To His suffering child to bring
This sweet message from my Father,
"Perfected through suffering?"
As T looked the truth flashed through me,
And I murmured o'er and o'er,
"It is He! the risen Saviour,
I will never doubt Him more!"
I could see the cruel thorn pricks
On th' uplifted brow so meek,
Till my soul was pierced with sorrow
With the love it could not speak.
Then I knew my Saviour truly
By His wounded hands and feet,
By His untold look of yearning
And His accents calm and sweet.
Saying, "Thou art sick and weary,
I was weary, too, and faint,
And my heart was broken daily
With a grief no words can paint.
For the whole world mocked My anguish,
None had sorrow like to Mine,
But I bore it uncomplaining
For the sake of souls like thine.
I, thy crucified Redeemer,
Hung upon th' accursed tree,
For the love I bore My people
Who felt only scorn for Me!
Oh! beloved child, the Father
Chastens those He loveth best,
Though His ways seem oft mysterious
Fraught with trouble and unrest.
Wilt thou shrink to drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee?
Well I know the dregs are bitter,
Yet I bid thee drink to Me.
Thou shalt share with Me My glory,
Never any toil or strife
Shall thy spirit know hereafter
In the true and better life
Through the 'valley of the shadow,'
That thy trembling soul alarms,
Thou shalt see the great Physician
Underneath the spreading palms!
And thy feet shall rush to meet Him,
Through the azure of the sky;
Thou shalt know Him from all others
By His look of majesty.
So I bid thee drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee,
Great thy joy to hear hereafter,
'Thou hast done it unto Me!'"