THE WAY OF THE CROSS by Hattie M. Nottage

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 28, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 30.

THE WAY OF THE CROSS.

By Hattie M. Nottage

“Come unto Me,” He said; and as I heard His voice, that strange, vague longing in me stirred That from that moment never hushed its cry. And, pitying, He stood and looked on me In tenderest sympathy, And called my name, and would not pass me by.

“My yoke,” the Master gently said; and I, Impatient, pushed the helpful, kind hand by, Muttering, “Nay, lift this burden on me pressed; I can not lift my head Thy face to see, It weighs so heavily; Was not Thy promise, ‘I will give you rest’?”

Yet still He waited. Sad the longing eyes Of Him who meekly stood in suppliant guise And pleaded with me, O, so tenderly! And my heart yearned to answer—but I heard His softly-spoken word, “Child, take My yoke upon you—learn of Me.”

The years passed on. Unwearying, He stood Beside me still, His footprints marked with blood, His gentle voice entreating, “Take My yoke;” And that sharp cry of need within my breast Pleading with Him for rest, While evermore His voice of labor spoke.

But the imploring eyes, the thorn-scarred brow, The face, seamed with unutterable wo, At last woke love in my complaining heart. “Even Thy yoke, O Master,” then I said, Albeit with drooping head, “Because Thou sufferedst, I will bear my part!”

And, lo! the grievous burden I had borne, Bound fast with cords, my aching shoulders torn And scarred, but proudly covered from sight, Seemed lifted from me. And with upraised head And grateful tears I said, “Thy yoke is easy, and Thy burden light.”

—Hattie M. Nottage.