Classic Poem

Not with the sound of trumpets,
Not with the roll of drums,
Out from the cold and silence
The great Redeemer comes;
But sweeping the dust and ashes,
The pain and sorrow away,
He walks through the starlit gloaming,
And heralds the coming day.

Not with the storm of passion,
Not with the wind of wrath,
You mark, along the moorland,
The winding of his path;
But here by the fragrant blossoms,
And there by the whispering grass,
You know the sign of His presence,
Though you do not see him pass.

What though the days are weary?
What though the hours are long?
Still comes the gold of harvest,
Still comes the joy of song;
Yea, and the burden of blessings
That fall from His open hand,
Lie soft like a benediction
All over the sleeping land.

Out from the toil and watching,
Out from the barren years,
Flashes the sun of promise,
Aye, though we see through tears;
And flushing the hilltops yonder,
And piercing the gloom of night,
It fills the soul with its glory,
And gladdens the world with light.

You who are bound by sorrow,
You who are held by chains,
Listen, the call is ringing
Over the wide, waste plains,
And He for your love is seeking,
Ah, not with the wind of scorn,
But fair with the great fruition,
And the sun-burst of the morn.

Life has no time for weeping,
Earth has no place for dross,
Ever the new life surges
Over the graves of loss;
And out from His watchful keeping
The radiant days sweep on,
Till we to His heart are gathered,
And pain and watching are gone.

Not in the rush of battle,
Not in the winds that smite,
Not in the roar of tempests
Wakens his trenchant might,
But soft in the still night watches
You hear the sound of His voice,
“Lo, I am with you forever,
And the world is glad. Rejoice!”