'Twas Sabbath eve; the hour of prayer was nigh, When lo! from out the dark and sullen sky Forked lightings sudden flashed, The thunder rolled and crashed; Then came the dreaded squall, And rain began to fall. Shivering, I closed the door— Ugh! how the rain did pour— And sought the fire's warm glow. How wild without! "Why go?" Said self, "The preacher will not come." But I heard a small voice say, "Why should you stay away? Though the servant may not appear, Will not the Master be there?"
I went; and even as I thought, The hour of prayer no preacher brought; But, from the band of fishermen, One rose, who with a reverent mien— Betraying no self-consciousness— Told the story of the Cross. His story told: another took his place, Another with an earnest sun-bronzed face, And he, in turn, in simple language strove To tell the story of Redeeming Love. Fearless he stood, this toiler of the deep, And I, I felt a strange desire to weep; For, as I sat and listened unto him, Feeling a sense of awe, my sight grew dim; A mist or something rose before mine eyes, Then backward rolled the centuries. And I, or so it seemed to me, Stood on the shore of Galilee Watching the Christ. I saw His hand Raised in a gesture of command. Following His gaze, I turned, and then Beheld two brethren—fishermen, Humble fishermen—but He Said, "Leave your nets, and follow Me." And they left all and followed on, Disciples of God's Holy One. ····· The vision passed: my sight grew clear, But still that voice Divine I hear— The voice that near Lake Galilee Said to the fishers, "Follow Me"; 'Tis saying, "Even now, as then, Are my disciples fishermen."
