“WHEN JESUS WAS BUT OLD AS I.”
By C. De W. Sharp
Through pastures green, o’er by-ways plain,
In shade, or sunshine’s ruddy glow;
At hill-top’s brow, in vale beneath,
On winter’s ice, ’neath heaven’s snow,
I feel a ready presence near,
And pleasant pictures of my Lord
Come flitting softly, surely by—
The Christ! a child! as real as I. When Jesus was but old as I—
O could I have but seen Him then;
And took His hand and asked Him why
That children are so tried at ten,
I wonder what to me He’d said?
With Father’s Word, He’d made reply.
Then why not do as Jesus would,
When Jesus was but old as I? I grew, to years, a half score more,
And life’s bright sun ascended high;
The flowers grew about my feet,
And pleasures fair bewitched my eye.
About to take a wayward step,
I felt that friendly presence nigh,
Suggesting to my waiting ear—
The Christ a youth! as real as I. When Jesus was but old as I,
Say just an even measured score;
When all things promised sunshine sure
To be for Him a pleasant store,
I’d like to ask what kept him pure.
I know He’d say, “Our Father” high;
Then, why not keep me pure as He,
When He was but as old as I? The years passed on, till three decades
Grew silent, as their days filled full
The time allotted to their span;
And ne’er a one of them was dull.
The glowing clouds that hide the sun
Cause me to tremble as I see;
Yet should I fear to forward go,
When Jesus was a man like me? When Jesus was but old as I,
And knew the cares that rest on me;
When yearning for a quiet place,
And finding not a minute free—
His “throne of strength” was Father’s seat,
The seat from which the angels fly;
Then there I’ll seek for strength like His
When He was but as old as I. 94 Ontario St., Rochester, N.Y.