THE MID-DAY sun, with fiercest glare, | |
| Broods o’er the hazy twinkling air: | |
| Along the level sand | |
| The palm-tree’s shade unwavering lies, | |
| Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise | 5 |
| To greet yon wearied band. | |
| |
| The leader of that martial crew | |
| Seems bent some mighty deed to do, | |
| So steadily he speeds, | |
| With lips firm closed and fixèd eye, | 10 |
| Like warrior when the fight is nigh, | |
| Nor talk nor landscape heeds. | |
| |
| What sudden blaze is round him poured, | |
| As though all Heaven’s refulgent hoard | |
| In one rich glory shone? | 15 |
| One moment—and to earth he falls: | |
| What voice his inmost heart appalls?— | |
| Voice heard by him alone. | |
| |
| For to the rest both words and form | |
| Seem lost in lightning and in storm, | 20 |
| While Saul, in wakeful trance, | |
| Sees deep within that dazzling field | |
| His persecuted Lord revealed, | |
| With keen yet pitying glance: | |
| |
| And hears the meek upbraiding call | 25 |
| As gently on his spirit fall, | |
| As if th’ Almighty Son | |
| Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, | |
| Nor had proclaimed His royal birth, | |
| Nor His great power begun. | 30 |
| |
| “Ah! wherefore persecut’st thou Me?” | |
| He heard and saw, and sought to free | |
| His strained eyes from the sight: | |
| But Heaven’s high magic bound it there, | |
| Still gazing, though untaught to bear | 35 |
| Th’ insufferable light. | |
| |
| “Who art Thou, Lord?” he falters forth:— | |
| So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth | |
| At the last awful day. | |
| “When did we see Thee suffering nigh, | 40 |
| And passed Thee with unheeding eye? | |
| Great God of judgment, say!” | |
| |
| Ah! little dream our listless eyes | |
| What glorious presence they despise, | |
| While, in our noon of life, | 45 |
| To power or fame we rudely press.— | |
| Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless, | |
| Christ suffers in our strife. | |
| |
| And though heaven’s gates long since have closed, | |
| And our dear Lord in bliss reposed, | 50 |
| High above mortal ken, | |
| To every ear in every land | |
| (Though meek ears only understand) | |
| He speaks as He did then. | |
| |
| “Ah! wherefore persecute ye Me? | 55 |
| ’Tis hard, ye so in love should be | |
| With your own endless woe. | |
| Know, though at God’s right hand I live, | |
| I feel each wound ye reckless give | |
| To the least saint below. | 60 |
| |
| “I in your care My brethren left, | |
| Not willing ye should be bereft | |
| Of waiting on your Lord. | |
| The meanest offering ye can make— | |
| A drop of water—for love’s sake, | 65 |
| In Heaven, be sure, is stored.” | |
| |
| O by those gentle tones and dear, | |
| When Thou hast stayed our wild career | |
| Thou only hope of souls, | |
| Ne’er let us cast one look behind, | 70 |
| But in the thought of Jesus find | |
| What every thought controls. | |
| |
| As to Thy last Apostle’s heart | |
| Thy lightning glance did then impart | |
| Zeal’s never-dying fire, | 75 |
| So teach us on Thy shrine to lay | |
| Our hearts, and let them day by day | |
| Intenser blaze and higher. | |
| |
| And as each mild and winning note | |
| (Like pulses that round harp-strings float | 80 |
| When the full strain is o’er) | |
| Left lingering on his inward ear | |
| Music, that taught, as death drew near, | |
| Love’s lesson more and more: | |
| |
| So, as we walk our earthly round, | 85 |
| Still may the echo of that sound | |
| Be in our memory stored: | |
| “Christians! behold your happy state: | |
| Christ is in these, who round you wait, | |
| Make much of your dear Lord!” | 90 |
| |
