HE LEADETH ME by Robert McIntyre

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 12, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 24.

“HE LEADETH ME.”

By Robert McIntyre

AMONG the Rockies, the engineers say, Wherever the water comes dancing down A railway can clamber up; and they Coil round the loftiest Titan’s crown The loops of the lasso of winding track; And up this Romeo ladder they glide To smirch with the murk of the smoky stack The stainless hue of the clouds that hide The brow of old Blanco, scarred with age, Where we rode that night on the “narrow gauge.”

Startled, we heard the shrill whistle scream, And flocks of echoes, scared by its breath, Fluttered and flew thru the hissing steam. Near was the summit, but nearer Death Stood counting his tally. We felt the lurch And heard the brave engine wrench and strain; Then backward, down from the eagle perch, To the far-off valley reeled the train. Fear crumpled our souls, when one out-spoke, “Leap for your lives, the coupling’s broke.”

“The airbrakes are useless,” another one cried, As into the gorge, with a cosmic whir, We fell. Let the poets tell the night ride Of Paul Revere, with his red-wet spur, When he lifted the farms with his warning cry; Or Sheridan, when the long race was done, Smiting Defeat on his boastful face; Of the three who started, when only one Brought the good news from Ghent to Aix, But the thrill of them all was in our veins As we swept from the crest to the distant plains.

We followed the foamy stream, and swerved Where white stars lay in the emerald deeps, Roared thru snow-sheds, leaned and curved, Hung pendulous over the crumbling steeps, Comet-like cut thru the midnight air, Swayed inward, scouring the granite bank, While mingling with the voice of prayer, Torn from its moorings the water tank, Was hurled and tossed in the clanging car, That bore us away to the judgment bar.

One stumble or stagger would surely fling Us all thru the gate of Eternity, When a white-haired woman began to sing That heroic old hymn, “He Leadeth Me.” No wavering air, but clear and full, It rose and fell on that awful din, Triumphant as swims a gleaming gull Thru the ocean’s storms that she revels in, Our cradle was rocking, the Lord beat time, And we were swinging to that old rhyme.

Her faith laid hold on the Father’s arm, We joined in the chorus, and cast our fears To the howling winds; there could come no harm. With the seas and suns and choiring spheres, We swung like the shrine lamps, rhythmic sweet, In Jehovah’s temple, so vague and vast; We clung like His children around His feet, Till we safely stopped on the plain at last, All blessing the saint who beneath His rod Sent that song into the ear of God.

—Robert McIntyre, D. D.