Classic Poem

I.

Come Thou again. The world grows old,
And Faith's fire wanes and hearts grow cold;
The years defraud Thee of Thy due;
Come Thou, and, coming, make things new.

But shouldst Thou come again indeed
With a new Name, and modern creed,
Hearts which are loyal to Thee still
Might doubt Thy new-revealed will.

And Thou, with Thy enfranchised Word,
Not peace wouldst bring us, but a sword;
And all Thy former gracious Past
Might rise to hinder Thee at last.

Yet come. The mystic beat of Time,
The dead years' measured march sublime,
The very truths Thy voice first taught,
Grown sovereign, bring Thy power to naught

Each weary age deceasing brings
Dust of dead creeds and soulless things,
So that no more our souls discern
Through their thick haze Thy precepts burn

Dead thoughts which ere Thy earthly years
Had marred the Race with lust and tears,
Arraign Thy Word, Thy Life, Thy Love,
Thy Cross on earth, Thy Throne above

And some, with wandering fires grown blind
No more the face of Godhead find,
And are content, rejecting Thee,
Aimless and rudderless to be;

And some have sought in hopeless pain
The styes of Pagan sense again,
And in Thy place would fain install
False gods with foulness for their all

And since so weak indeed we are,
With Death so near and Heaven so far,
With creeping mists of sin and sense
Quench the white fire of innocence

Come Thou. Tho' brief to Thee appears
The sum of nigh two thousand years,
To lives like ours, which fleet so fast,
They stretch a long abysmal Past.

Come, if Thou wilt, with wider creed,
To meet and satisfy our need;
Or, if Thou wilt, come now as then,
And fill the hungry hearts of men

Nor once, but often, come and fire
Cold hearts, and doubting minds inspire;
And from its depths of misery
Lift a despairing world to Thee!

II.

W HERE wouldst Thou I should go? The way
Is dark, nor yet ascends the day;
Confused, the mazy paths combine —
I cannot yet distinguish mine.

Wouldst Thou that up the soaring hill
Breathless I climb and labour still?
Or on the dull uncomely plain
Shall sow and reap and sow again?

Shall I, amid the dust and strife
Of the thronged town, expend my life?
Or watch the silent summers come,
Gilding the skies and fields of home?

Or best devote my nascent years
To stay the flow of human tears?
Or cloistered in some tranquil cell,
Shall I, in praising Thee, do well?

Or shall my studious footsteps stray
Down Learning's still, untroubled way,
And, led by princely souls of yore,
Advance Thought's realm a footpace more?

Or in the wrangling Senate take
No care for aught, but for Thy sake,
Content to raise the multitude
To some faint glimpse of Thee and Good?

Or, better in the busy mart
Remind the worldling that Thou art
Working Thy humbler work, which lies
Not less on earth than in the skies?

Or strive to fix with half-amaze
The beauty of my inward gaze?
Or with lips fired by yearnings strong
Clothe Thy ineffable word with song?

Guide with Thy light my faltering feet
Where Life's perplexing pathways meet;
Call Thou me with Thy silent voice,
And I will follow and rejoice!