THOU thrice denied, yet thrice belov’d, | |
| Watch by thine own forgiven friend; | |
| In sharpest perils faithful prov’d, | |
| Let his soul love thee to the end. | |
| |
| The prayer is heard—else why so deep | 5 |
| His slumber on the eve of death? | |
| And wherefore smiles he in his sleep | |
| As one who drew celestial breath? | |
| |
| He loves and is belov’d again— | |
| Can his soul choose but be at rest? | 10 |
| Sorrow hath fled away, and pain | |
| Dares not invade the guarded nest. | |
| |
| He dearly loves, and not alone; | |
| For his wing’d thoughts are soaring high | |
| Where never yet frail heart was known | 15 |
| To breathe in vain affection’s sigh. | |
| |
| He loves and weeps—but more than tears | |
| Have seal’d Thy welcome and his love— | |
| One look lives in him, and endears | |
| Crosses and wrongs where’er he rove: | 20 |
| |
| That gracious chiding look, Thy call | |
| To win him to himself and Thee, | |
| Sweetening the sorrow of his fall, | |
| Which else were rued too bitterly. | |
| |
| Even through the veil of sleep it shines, | 25 |
| The memory of that kindly glance;— | |
| The Angel watching by divines | |
| And spares awhile his blissful trance. | |
| |
| Or haply to his native lake | |
| His vision wafts him back, to talk | 30 |
| With Jesus, ere his flight he take, | |
| As in that solemn evening walk, | |
| |
| When to the bosom of his friend, | |
| The Shepherd, He whose name is Good, | |
| Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, | 35 |
| Both bought and nourished with His blood. | |
| |
| Then laid on him th’ inverted tree, | |
| Which, firm embrac’d with heart and arm, | |
| Might cast o’er hope and memory, | |
| O’er life and death, its awful charm. | 40 |
| |
| With brightening heart he bears it on, | |
| His passport through th’ eternal gates, | |
| To his sweet home—so nearly won, | |
| He seems, as by the door he waits, | |
| |
| The unexpressive notes to hear | 45 |
| Of angel song and angel motion, | |
| Rising and falling on the ear | |
| Like waves in Joy’s unbounded ocean.— | |
| |
| His dream is chang’d—the Tyrant’s voice | |
| Calls to that last of glorious deeds; | 50 |
| But as he rises to rejoice, | |
| Not Herod but an Angel leads. | |
| |
| He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, | |
| Glancing around his prison room— | |
| But ’tis a gleam of heavenly light | 55 |
| That fills up all the ample gloom. | |
| |
| The flame, that in a few short years | |
| Deep through the chambers of the dead | |
| Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, | |
| Is waving o’er his dungeon bed. | 60 |
| |
| Touch’d, he upstarts—his chains unbind— | |
| Through darksome vault, up massy stair, | |
| His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind | |
| To freedom and cool moonlight air. | |
| |
| Then all himself, all joy and calm, | 65 |
| Though for awhile his hand forego, | |
| Just as it touch’d the martyr’s palm, | |
| He turns him to his task below; | |
| |
| The pastoral staff, the keys of heaven, | |
| To wield awhile in grey-hair’d might, | 70 |
| Then from his cross to spring forgiven, | |
| And follow Jesus out of sight. | |
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