THE KING by James B. Kenyon

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, Cal. · May 31, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 22.

THE KING.

By James B. Kenyon

[By James B. Kenyon, Lit.D., in Christian Advocate.]

I journeyed far to see the King; my days I spent in weary quests; by lonely tarns, In populous cities, in the wilderness, Where the gaunt mountains lift their hoary fronts, And where the deserts spread their shifting sands, Wandered my fruitless steps. For I was fain To see Him in His splendor, His august And gracious presence making all the place Of His enthronement radiant with light. His voice, full fraught with power, I deemed should be More sweet than falling waters heard afar, Or the warm night winds whispering in the pines; His luminous eyes beneath His placid brows Starlike should calmly beam on all alike; And from the dais where His feet were set Refreshing streams of influence should flow To drooping lives.

Thus day by day I sought To come where He might be, but evermore The morrow found me still a wayfarer; Till, spent and gray, I turned my hopeless feet Down the small street where stood my empty home, And there I found Him waiting at my door. Not clothed in purple, but in raiment stained And travel-worn; His feet were bare; His head Was meekly bowed, and on His wasted cheek Were traces as of tears. Within His hands He held no scepter, but a palmer's staff; Yet, as I looked, I knew He was the King, For round His brow was girt a crown of thorns.

Syracuse, N. Y.