Classic Poem

IS He not near?—look up and see:
Peace on His lips, and in His hands and side
The wounds of love. He stays the trembling knee,
Nerves the frail arm, His ark to guide.
Is He not near? O trust His seal
Baptismal, yet uncancell'd on thy brow;
Trust the kind love His holy months reveal,
Oft as His altar hears thy deep heart-searching vow.

And trust the calm, the joy benign,
That o'er the obedient breathes in life's still hour,
When Sunday lights with summer airs combine,
And shadows blend from cloud and bower.
And trust the wrath of Jesus' foes;
They feel Him near, and hate His mark on you;
O take their word, ye whom He lov'd and chose!
Be joyful in your King; the rebels own you true.