Poems (Shipton)/Meliora
MELIORA.
"The disciple is not above his Master."—Luke vi. 40.
"That no man should be moved by these afflictions: for yourselves know that we are appointed thereunto."—1 Thess. iii. 3.
The wilderness way I wandered
Had many a valley and hill;
When I heard a song in the silence:
Its melody lingereth still.
It breathed o'er my sinking spirit—
"Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup."
Had many a valley and hill;
When I heard a song in the silence:
Its melody lingereth still.
It breathed o'er my sinking spirit—
"Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup."
Sadly I smiled as I answered—
"How can I follow Him now?
The light is gone from the mountain,
And wildly the night winds blow.
I wield no sword for our Leader;
No banner my weak hands hold:
I but clasp it close to my bosom,
And hide in its crimson fold."
"How can I follow Him now?
The light is gone from the mountain,
And wildly the night winds blow.
I wield no sword for our Leader;
No banner my weak hands hold:
I but clasp it close to my bosom,
And hide in its crimson fold."
"Droop not to-day. Meliora!
Drink of the chalice He fills:
Grace is laid up for the weakest,
Strength for the service He wills.
'All things are yours'; yea, the glory,
The darkness, the desert, to-day;
And He who hath trod it before thee
Hath hallowed thy toilsome way.
Drink of the chalice He fills:
Grace is laid up for the weakest,
Strength for the service He wills.
'All things are yours'; yea, the glory,
The darkness, the desert, to-day;
And He who hath trod it before thee
Hath hallowed thy toilsome way.
"Fight 'gainst the power of evil;
Up to the girded race!
Each hath a charge in the temple,
All in the kingdom a place.
Wait where thy Master hath called thee,
Patiently suffer His will;
Enough, oh, enough, if He bade thee
Be silent, and helpless, and still.
Up to the girded race!
Each hath a charge in the temple,
All in the kingdom a place.
Wait where thy Master hath called thee,
Patiently suffer His will;
Enough, oh, enough, if He bade thee
Be silent, and helpless, and still.
"Brave hearts fall in the battle,
The race and the chaplet won;
And some with the standard flying
Must rally the ranks alone;
Some lie on the wayside wounded,
And some with their Leader rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best.
The race and the chaplet won;
And some with the standard flying
Must rally the ranks alone;
Some lie on the wayside wounded,
And some with their Leader rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best.
"So keep thy watch at the portal;
The Master hath bid thee wait,
And speak the word that He gives thee,
As wanderers pass the gate.
When the sneer of the scoffer moves thee;
Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup.
The Master hath bid thee wait,
And speak the word that He gives thee,
As wanderers pass the gate.
When the sneer of the scoffer moves thee;
Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup.
"A vessel meet for His service
The Potter must frame and mould;
There's the fining-pot for the silver,
And the furnace-flame for the gold:
But One watches o'er the fire—
A watch that thou canst not share;
Look up! Look up! Meliora!
The Lord whom thou lov'st is there."
The Potter must frame and mould;
There's the fining-pot for the silver,
And the furnace-flame for the gold:
But One watches o'er the fire—
A watch that thou canst not share;
Look up! Look up! Meliora!
The Lord whom thou lov'st is there."
Over the world's wide waters
The dove could her message bring;
And still at our curtained casement
A minstrel waiteth to sing.
There's many a bird at the threshold
Who bringeth a song in the night;
And we praise the love that hath lent him,
As we follow his upward flight.
The dove could her message bring;
And still at our curtained casement
A minstrel waiteth to sing.
There's many a bird at the threshold
Who bringeth a song in the night;
And we praise the love that hath lent him,
As we follow his upward flight.
Thus often my night-watch keeping,
In moments with sadness fraught,
Sweet words to my drooping spirit
Have the billows of ocean brought.
Greetings from heavenly kindred
I never on earth shall see,
And blessings from friends long parted
Are songs like my bird's to me.
In moments with sadness fraught,
Sweet words to my drooping spirit
Have the billows of ocean brought.
Greetings from heavenly kindred
I never on earth shall see,
And blessings from friends long parted
Are songs like my bird's to me.
And low they sing, "Meliora!
The journey is shortening home;
To-night we are nearer the Glory,
And brighter the days to come.
Secure in the arms that bear thee,
Meliora! take thy rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best."
The journey is shortening home;
To-night we are nearer the Glory,
And brighter the days to come.
Secure in the arms that bear thee,
Meliora! take thy rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best."