Poems (Shipton)/Whispers 'Neath the Palms
WHISPERS 'NEATH THE PALMS.
"And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon His head, and a reed in His right hand."—Matt. xxvii. 29.
"We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. . . . Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body."—2 Cor. iv. 7, 10.
Where noiselessly the yellow Nile sweeps by,
I rested 'neath a Palm, whose branches spread
Their dark green leaves against the glowing sky.
And the blue desert seemed a pathless shore
To fairer temples builded in the sky,
Of every rainbow hue that clouds e'er wore.
Her golden crown was glist'ning in the sun,
And down the stately bole the rippling rays
Seemed like a molten rivulet to run.
The wind's hot breath the feathery foliage stirred;
But that blest Name, all other names above,
In whispered harmony I never heard.
Waiting the Holy Spirit's quickening might;
Sleeping for sadness till Thy south wind came
To wake Thy garden into life and light.
Their bloom and verdure gone, broken and dry,
Fit emblem of a helpless, lifeless thing:
O gracious Master, such a one am I!
And longed for such fleet pinions to be free,
So to escape this stormy wilderness,
And rest for ever, Lord, with Thee—with Thee!
Like the poor reed parched in the summer drought,
And learned again a lesson conned before,
Of base things, things despised, and things of nought.
Or voice of many waters, gentle stole
The tender chiding of a wounded Friend,
And its low whisper shook my prostrate soul
The whitened fields await the golden morn?
'Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour,'
To cheer some wanderer, weary and forlorn?"
My hand is feeble, and my spirit quails.
Let me lie down in silence at Thy feet;
Weary and faint, at last my courage fails."
Droop in the race before the crown is won?
Escape the shame, the burden, and the toil,
And lose the seed-time ere thy work be done?"
And if I have, it wars against Thy will.
Thou bid'st me wait, and I am full of care;
Thou call'st me forward, and behold me, still!"
For all the way I led thee. Why repine?
Be of good courage, 'tis My word thou bear'st;
Be thine the willing heart, the power is Mine."
Is, like the palm-tree's, folded in a word;
And e'en my praise is stammered more than sung,
My coward heart lies low—Thou know'st it, Lord!
Glory and pleasure Thou wouldst find in me;
Gath'ring the warmth and light from heaven alone,
I'd bear my golden fruit, a crown for Thee!"
That by the waters spreads its thirsty root,
Than the bruised reed beneath thy careless foot.
And lead Him forth to die—yea, die for thee—
Surrounded by the scoffing multitude,
That in false homage bent the mocking knee?"
I know thou hast. But didst thou never heed
How in His hand, the right Hand of His power,
They thrust a sceptre?—'twas a feeble reed.
Why art thou troubled? Why this sore distress?
For that frail sceptre still shall bruise the foe,
And carry comfort to the comfortless.
That now upholds thee, lest thou fly, or yield:
Cast then thy weakness on Almighty power;
I am thy sure reward, thy Sun and Shield."
And make me meet to bear the oil and wine!
It is enough to be a thins; of nought:
The might and glory, Lord, be Thine—all Thine!"
[Note.—It is an Oriental tradition, that the palm branches, when they quiver in the wind, whisper the name which is above all other names—"Jesus." The only traveller I have met who ever listened for it was a Christian officer, who told me he had slept beneath a group of these interesting trees, so full of Scripture emblems, and on his waking he thought there was no difficulty in imagining the sound of a Hebrew word produced by the morning breeze sweeping through the long palm-leaves. To him its voice was "Ishi."—Hosea ii. 16.]