The Weary Watcher Rests
By Eugene Rowell
God’s weary watcher sleeps. His silence lies Upon the voice unstilled by human fears. His seal is set on the discerning eyes That saw his light through all the darkening years. Mysterious years with awful meaning fraught, That on us crowd so fast, who shall declare Their warning message or their hidden thought, Or give us hope against their deep despair? Mourn not, God’s chosen people. Do not weep For that long-faithful servant gone to rest. He hath but given his beloved sleep, And with his peace that life of toil hath blessed. So sleep his prophets old, awhile withdrawn From toil and pain and sorrow. Their reward Is not less sure; and when the night is gone, In God’s own morning they shall meet their Lord. Her message still is with us. Mark it well. A saintly life is scrolled in wisdom there. More reverent on its living precepts dwell, And heed the more its urgent call to prayer. What troublous times are on us, God alone Can in the fullness of his wisdom know; Yet he will make his dreadful secrets known, Nor leave us for quick floods to overflow. For God is with his people. His high will Is still toward us for good. His great design Moves steadfast and unwavering onward still; His years are set by an unswerving line. Draw close, draw close, his chosen, in this hour When darkness threatens danger. Let the tie Of love divine clasp with immortal power The brotherhood of saints. Let faith not die. So, weary watcher, sleep. Thy vigil long Hath won life’s hope for us, its crown for thee. Sleep on, to waken to the victor’s song, And joy of saints upon the glassy sea.