Poems (Shipton)/The Door of the Sepulchre

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
4502798Poems — The Door of the SepulchreAnna Shipton

THE DOOR OF THE SEPULCHRE.

Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, Lord, in the light of Thy countenance."—Ps. lxxxix. 15.

Beyond the stars that shine in silvery glory,
   Beyond the calm, sweet moon,
Up the bright ladder saints have trod before thee,
   Soul! thou shalt venture soon.

Secure with Him who sees thy heart-sick yearning,
   Safe in His arms of love,
Thou shalt exchange thy midnight for the morning,
   And thy fair home above.

Oh, it is sweet to watch the world's night wearing,
   The Sabbath morn steal on;
Sweeter it were the vineyard labor sharing,
   Sweetest—the labor done.

All finished, all! the conflict and the sorrow;
   Earth's anguished dream is o'er:
Deathless there dawns for thee a nightless morrow
   Upon a stormless shore.

Patience, then! patience! Soon the pang of dying
   Shall all forgotten be;
And thou, through rolling spheres rejoicing, flying
   Beyond the waveless sea,

Shalt see that way where now thy Lord doth lead thee;
   His darkest dealings trace;
And by those fountains where His love will feed thee,
   Behold Him face to face.

Then bow thy head; and God shall give thee meekness
   Bravely to do His will:
So shall arise His glory in thy weakness.
   O struggling soul, be still!

Dark clouds are His pavilion, shining o'er thee;
   Thy heart must recognize
The veiled Shekinah moving; on before thee,
   Too bright to meet thine eyes.

Behold the wheel that straightly moves, and fleetly
   Performs the sovereign word.
Thou know'st His suffering love: then, suffering meetly,
   Follow thy loving Lord.

Watch on the tower, and listen by the gateway:
   Fear not to wait alone.
Take thou thy spices, and some angel straightway
   Shall roll away the stone.

Go to thy brethren: say thy Lord hath risen,
   And risen but to save;
Toll of the might that breaks the captive's prison,
   Of life beyond the grave.

Tell how He met thee, all His radiance shrouded;
   How in thy sorrow came
His pitying voice, breathing, when faith was clouded,
   Thine own familiar name.

So at the grave's dark portal thou mayst linger,
   And hymn thy happy strain:
The passing world may mock the feeble singer;
   Heed not, but sing again.

Thus wait, thus watch, till He the last link sever:
   And soon that day shall be,
"When in His beauty thou shalt bask for ever,
   For Christ hath made thee free!