are thrilling with untold joy
Because we have found our wandering boy.
In that wretched man so haggard and wild
I only behold my returning child,
And the blissful tears from my eyes that start
Are the overflow of a happy heart.
I have trodden the streets in lonely grief,
I have sought in prayer for my sole relief;
But the depths of my heart to-night are stirred,
I know that the mother’s prayer has been heard.
If the mother-love be so strong and great
For her child, sin-weary and desolate,
Oh what must the love of the Father be
For souls who have wandered like you and me!
“Fishers of Men”
I had a dream, a varied dream:
Before my ravished sight
The city of my Lord arose,
With all its love and light.
The music of a myriad harps
Flowed out with sweet accord;
And saints were casting down their crowns
In homage to our Lord.
My heart leaped up with untold joy;
Life’s toil and pain were o’er;
My weary feet at last had found
The bright and restful shore.
Just as I reached the gates of light,
Ready to enter in,
From earth arose a fearful cry
Of sorrow and of sin.
I turned, and saw behind me surge
A wild and stormy sea;
And drowning men were reaching out
Imploring hands to me.
And ev’ry lip was blanched with dread
And moaning for relief;
The music of the golden harps
Grew fainter for their grief.
Let me return, I quickly said,
Close to the pearly gate;
My work is with these wretched ones,
So wrecked and desolate.
An angel smiled and gently said:
This is the gate of life,
Wilt thou return to earth’s sad scenes
Its weariness and strife,
To comfort hearts that sigh and break,
To dry the falling tear,
Wilt thou forego the music sweet
Entrancing now thy ear?
I must return, I firmly said,
The struggles in that sea
Shall not reach out beseeching hands
In vain for help to me.
I turned to go; but as I turned
The gloomy sea grew bright,
And from my heart there seemed to flow
Ten thousand cords of light.
And sin-wrecked men, with eager hands,
Did grasp each golden cord;
And with my heart I drew them on
To see my gracious Lord.
Again I stood beside the gate.
My heart was glad and free;
For with me stood a rescued throng
The Lord had given me.
Signing the Pledge
Do you see this cup—this tempting cup—
Its sparkle and its glow?
I tell you this cup has brought to me
A world of shame and woe.
Do you see that woman sad and wan?
One day with joy and pride,
With orange blossoms in her hair,
I claimed her as my bride.
And vowed that I would faithful prove
Till death our lives should part;
I’ve drenched her soul with floods of grief,
And almost crushed her heart.
Do you see that gray-haired mother bend
Beneath her weight of years?
I’ve filled that aged mother’s eyes
With many bitter tears.
Year after year for me she prays,
And tries her child to save;
I’ve almost brought her gray hairs down
In sorrow to the grave.
Do you see that boy whose wistful eyes
Are gazing on my face?
I’ve overshadowed his young life
With sorrow and disgrace.
He used to greet me with a smile,
His heart was light and glad;
I’ve seen him tremble at my voice,
I’ve made that heart so sad.
Do you see this pledge I’ve signed to-night?
My mother, wife, and boy
Shall read my purpose on that pledge
And smile through tears of joy.
To know this night, this very night,
I cast the wine-cup down,
And from the dust of a sinful life
Lift up my manhood’s crown.
The faded face of my young wife
With roses yet shall bloom,
And joy shall light my mother’s eyes
On the margin of the tomb.
I have vowed to-night my only boy,
With brow so fair and mild,
Shall not be taunted on the streets,
And called a drunkard’s child.
Never again shall that young face
Whiten with grief and dread,
Because I’ve madly staggered home
And sold for drink his bread.
This strong right arm unnerved by rum
Shall battle with my fate;
And peace and comfort crown the home
By drink made desolate.
Like a drowning man, tempest-tossed,
Clings to a rocky ledge,
With trembling hands I’ve learned to grasp
The gospel and the pledge.
A captive bounding from my chain,
I’ve rent each hateful band,
And by the help of grace divine
A victor hope to stand.
25th Anniversary of the “Old Folks’ Home”
We come, but not to celebrate,
Amid the flight and whirl of years,
The deeds of heroes, on whose brows
Are laurels, drenched with blood and tears.
Nor yet to tell of wondrous deeds,
Performed on fields of bloodless strife;
But of the lovely, precious things,
That bless and beautify our life.
And from the annals of the poor,
We would unfold a shining page;
And tell of kindly hands that smoothed
The rugged path of faltering age.
To shelter those who long have borne
Life’s chilling storms and searching heat,
In restful homes, with love alight,
What charity more pure and sweet?
But not beneath this spacious Home
Was laid the first foundation stone,
But in the hearts that learned to feel
For woman, stricken, old and lone.
To Hall and Truman, Still and Laing,
Was given power to aid and bless;
And, faithful to her sacred charge,
Constant and helping, stood Ann Jess.
May Sarah Pennock, whose kind hand
Has often brought the “Home” relief,
Feel life replete with God’s great peace;
Find light in darkness, joy in grief.
Custodian of the generous purse,
May Israel Johnson long remain;—
And reach at last the happy land,
Where faithful service meets its gain.
And join again departed forms
Of wife and sister passed before;
Who gave their treasure to the Lord,
By generous gifts unto His poor.
And some who met with us erewhile,
Have passed unto the other side;—
Like precious fragrance, may their deeds
Within our heart of hearts abide.
Year after year, within these halls,
Did Dillwyn Parrish faithful stand;—
Till He “who gives his loved ones sleep”
Released, in death, his helpful hand.
Of those who scattered flowers fair
Around the verge of parting life,
We would record with grateful words,
The names of Stephen Smith and wife.
Whose hands, enriched with golden store,
Gave of their wealth to build this “Home,”
And
