COULDST THOU NOT WATCH WITH ME ONE HOUR?
By Mrs. E. M. Hicks
The night was dark, behold the shade was deeper,
In the old garden of Gethsemane,
When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper,
Couldst thou not watch one hour alone with Me? O thou, so weary of thy self-denials,
And so impatient of thy little cross,
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials?
To count all earthly good a gainful loss? What if thou always suffer tribulation?
And if thy Christian warfare never cease?
The gaining of the heavenly habitation,
Shall gather thee to everlasting peace. But here we all must suffer, walking lonely
The path that Jesus once himself has gone;
Watch thou in patience, but this one hour only,
This one dark hour, before the eternal dawn. The captive's oar may pause upon the galley,
The soldier sleep beneath his plumed crest;
And peace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley,
But thou, O Christian, must not take thy rest! Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee,
With Him who trod the winepress all alone;
Thou wilt not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thine own. Heed not the mirages forever thronging,
From out the foregone life, thou livest no more!
Faint-hearted mariner, still art thou longing,
For the dim line of the receding shore? Wilt thou find rest of soul in thy returning
To that old path thou hast so vainly trod?
Hast thou forgotten all thy weary yearning,
To walk among the children of thy God, Faithful and steadfast in their consecration,
Living by that high faith, to thee so dim,
Declaring before God their dedication,
So far from thee, because so near to him? Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,
Behold we count them happy which endure?
What treasure wouldst thou in the land Egyptian,
Repass the stormy waters to secure? Wouldst thou yield up thy sure and glorious promise,
For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?
No hand can take away the treasure from thee,
That rests within the keeping of the Lord. Poor, wandering soul! I know that thou art seeking,
Some easier way, as all have sought before,
To silence thy reproachful inward speaking,
Some landward path, into an island shore. Thy cross is heavy in thy human measure,
The way too narrow for thy inward pride;
Thou canst not lay thine intellectual treasure,
At the low footstool of the Crucified. Oh! that thy faithless soul one brief hour only,
Might comprehend the Christian's perfect light;
Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely,
Yet calmly looking upward in the strife. For poverty and self-renunciation,
Our Father yieldeth back a thousand-fold;
In the calm stillness of our resignation,
Cometh a joy they never knew of old. In meek obedience to the heavenly Teacher,
Thy weary soul can only find its peace;
Seeking no aid from any human creature,
Looking to God alone for his release. And he will come in his own time and power,
To set his earnest-hearted children free;
Watch only thou this dark and painful hour,
And the bright morning will yet dawn for thee. Selected for REVIEW by MRS. E. M. HICKS.