COULD'ST THOU NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?
Thy night is dark—behold! the shade was deeper
In the old garden of Gethsemane,
When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper,
Could'st 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 things a gainful loss? What if thou always suffer tribulation?
And if thy Christian warfare never cease?
The gaining of the quiet habitation
Shall gather thee to everlasting peace. But here we all must suffer, walking lonely
The path that Jesus once himself hath gone;
Watch thou in patience through 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 wings 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 wine-press all alone;
Thou wilt not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thine own! Heed not the images forever thronging
From out the foregone life thou liv'st 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 water to secure? And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise
For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?
No hand can take away the treasure from us
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 the reproachful inward speaking,
Some landward path unto an island shore! The cross is heavy in thy human measure,
Thy way too narrow for thine inward pride;
Thou canst not lay thine intellectual treasure
At the low footstool of the Crucified. Oh! that thy faithless soul, one hour only,
Would comprehend the Christian's perfect life,
Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely,
Yet calmly looking upward in its strife. For poverty and self-renunciation
Their Father yieldeth back a thousand-fold;
In the calm stillness of regeneration
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 thy release. And he will come in his own time and power
To set his earnest-hearted children free;
Watch only through this dark and painful hour,
And the bright morning yet will break for thee.