Whom Jesus Loved
Come, little John, tell me the lovely tale
Of your fine friendship with The Man, nor fail
To whisper every detail that shall prove
His glorious love.
Were things as difficult with you as now?
You were the younger, weren't you? Tell me how
You met Him. Did his eyes so soft and sad
Attract you, lad?
Or was it first the charm of that deep voice
That thrilled and made your boyish heart rejoice?
I know He won you not by force or stealth
But by Himself.
And did He recognize His image, you, in truth,
And revel in the radiance of your youth?
And was it not a comfort when you came,
Devoid of shame,
And held, for all the world to see, His hand
And whispered, ‘Those poor chaps don't understand
I am your friend; you, mine. I love you, see.
Say you love me.’
Did men with muddy mind deride because
They'd fain imagine sin where no sin was,
Imputing to the Prince of Love and thee
Impurity?
But you two little plots and plans devised
For meeting unobserved, and so disguised
Your love; for each the good name of his friend
Swore to defend.
By simple codes and signs you'd seem to hear
In thickest crowds His soft ‘I love you, dear.’
And when His weariness at last He'd own
Was He alone?
And did He love to watch you cleave the sea
And scamper on the shores of Galilee?
And then rub down your back and ask for this
Service a kiss?
And—for a treat for whom?—did you two dine
At His expense, and did the needless wine
Add glitter to your eyes? Ah, the delight
Of that ‘good-night!’
And did He beg of you, His little John,
To write to Him, for He was going on
A journey and might ne'er return? Ah, no,
You could not go!
When sad and lonely did He haply seek
The solace of your smile and did you speak
The words alone that could assuage His woe
‘I love you so!’?
And when He spoke of shame and agony,
Of sacrifice and its futility,
You'd squeeze His fingers gently, would you not,
And murmer ‘rot!’?
And did He suffer gladly for your sake
And daily solemn resolution make
To guard with loving care against offence
Your innocence?
And, as o'nights your stripling limbs you spread,
Did he perchance come softly to your bed,
And did you feel beneath the shadowy vine
Cool lips on thine?
Oh happy John! Such love can never end.
Closer than brothers are is friend to friend.
You the divinity of it have proved,
‘Whom Jesus loved.’
Of your fine friendship with The Man, nor fail
To whisper every detail that shall prove
His glorious love.
Were things as difficult with you as now?
You were the younger, weren't you? Tell me how
You met Him. Did his eyes so soft and sad
Attract you, lad?
Or was it first the charm of that deep voice
That thrilled and made your boyish heart rejoice?
I know He won you not by force or stealth
But by Himself.
And did He recognize His image, you, in truth,
And revel in the radiance of your youth?
And was it not a comfort when you came,
Devoid of shame,
And held, for all the world to see, His hand
And whispered, ‘Those poor chaps don't understand
I am your friend; you, mine. I love you, see.
Say you love me.’
Did men with muddy mind deride because
They'd fain imagine sin where no sin was,
Imputing to the Prince of Love and thee
Impurity?
But you two little plots and plans devised
For meeting unobserved, and so disguised
Your love; for each the good name of his friend
Swore to defend.
By simple codes and signs you'd seem to hear
In thickest crowds His soft ‘I love you, dear.’
And when His weariness at last He'd own
Was He alone?
And did He love to watch you cleave the sea
And scamper on the shores of Galilee?
And then rub down your back and ask for this
Service a kiss?
And—for a treat for whom?—did you two dine
At His expense, and did the needless wine
Add glitter to your eyes? Ah, the delight
Of that ‘good-night!’
And did He beg of you, His little John,
To write to Him, for He was going on
A journey and might ne'er return? Ah, no,
You could not go!
When sad and lonely did He haply seek
The solace of your smile and did you speak
The words alone that could assuage His woe
‘I love you so!’?
And when He spoke of shame and agony,
Of sacrifice and its futility,
You'd squeeze His fingers gently, would you not,
And murmer ‘rot!’?
And did He suffer gladly for your sake
And daily solemn resolution make
To guard with loving care against offence
Your innocence?
And, as o'nights your stripling limbs you spread,
Did he perchance come softly to your bed,
And did you feel beneath the shadowy vine
Cool lips on thine?
Oh happy John! Such love can never end.
Closer than brothers are is friend to friend.
You the divinity of it have proved,
‘Whom Jesus loved.’
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