4502873Poems — MelioraAnna Shipton

MELIORA.

"The disciple is not above his Master."—Luke vi. 40.
"That no man should be moved by these afflictions: for yourselves know that we are appointed thereunto."—1 Thess. iii. 3.

The wilderness way I wandered
Had many a valley and hill;
When I heard a song in the silence:
Its melody lingereth still.
It breathed o'er my sinking spirit—
"Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup."

Sadly I smiled as I answered—
"How can I follow Him now?
The light is gone from the mountain,
And wildly the night winds blow.
I wield no sword for our Leader;
No banner my weak hands hold:
I but clasp it close to my bosom,
And hide in its crimson fold."

"Droop not to-day. Meliora!
Drink of the chalice He fills:
Grace is laid up for the weakest,
Strength for the service He wills.
'All things are yours'; yea, the glory,
The darkness, the desert, to-day;
And He who hath trod it before thee
Hath hallowed thy toilsome way.

"Fight 'gainst the power of evil;
Up to the girded race!
Each hath a charge in the temple,
All in the kingdom a place.
Wait where thy Master hath called thee,
Patiently suffer His will;
Enough, oh, enough, if He bade thee
Be silent, and helpless, and still.

"Brave hearts fall in the battle,
The race and the chaplet won;
And some with the standard flying
Must rally the ranks alone;
Some lie on the wayside wounded,
And some with their Leader rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best.

"So keep thy watch at the portal;
The Master hath bid thee wait,
And speak the word that He gives thee,
As wanderers pass the gate.
When the sneer of the scoffer moves thee;
Meliora! Child, look up!
Follow thy Master's footsteps;
Drink of thy Master's cup.

"A vessel meet for His service
The Potter must frame and mould;
There's the fining-pot for the silver,
And the furnace-flame for the gold:
But One watches o'er the fire—
A watch that thou canst not share;
Look up! Look up! Meliora!
The Lord whom thou lov'st is there."

Over the world's wide waters
The dove could her message bring;
And still at our curtained casement
A minstrel waiteth to sing.
There's many a bird at the threshold
Who bringeth a song in the night;
And we praise the love that hath lent him,
As we follow his upward flight.

Thus often my night-watch keeping,
In moments with sadness fraught,
Sweet words to my drooping spirit
Have the billows of ocean brought.
Greetings from heavenly kindred
I never on earth shall see,
And blessings from friends long parted
Are songs like my bird's to me.

And low they sing, "Meliora!
The journey is shortening home;
To-night we are nearer the Glory,
And brighter the days to come.
Secure in the arms that bear thee,
Meliora! take thy rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best."