THE PEARL-DIVER.
"I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord; thoughts of peace, and not of evil."—Jeremiah xxix. 11.
"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee."—Isaiah xliii. 2.
Down 'neath the wave the venturous diver sinks,
And while the eddying currents round him whirl,
Air from the crystal heavens he panting drinks,
And risks his being for a precious pearl.
Eager and breathless, as each rough-cast shell
Gives up its treasure, none on earth may know
What his pale cheek to loving hearts may tell,
What visions of the wild deep come and go!
Enough for him a costly pearl is won—
The king has smiled on him—the gloom is gone!
And while the eddying currents round him whirl,
Air from the crystal heavens he panting drinks,
And risks his being for a precious pearl.
Eager and breathless, as each rough-cast shell
Gives up its treasure, none on earth may know
What his pale cheek to loving hearts may tell,
What visions of the wild deep come and go!
Enough for him a costly pearl is won—
The king has smiled on him—the gloom is gone!
Long days have passed, and fled the last dark night;
And in a crown, in fairest lustre glow,
What once unlovely caskets hid from sight,
Pearls for a diadem—a goodly row:
Resplendent jewels of each brilliant hue,
And fashioned by the Master's hand, are there.
One knows where each bright gem in darkness grew-
The slimy serpent's trail, the scorpion's lair:
He knows the diver's way, and He alone.
He sees thy way. Be brave, my friend, press on!
And in a crown, in fairest lustre glow,
What once unlovely caskets hid from sight,
Pearls for a diadem—a goodly row:
Resplendent jewels of each brilliant hue,
And fashioned by the Master's hand, are there.
One knows where each bright gem in darkness grew-
The slimy serpent's trail, the scorpion's lair:
He knows the diver's way, and He alone.
He sees thy way. Be brave, my friend, press on!
And such thy prize, pearl-seeker! Though the light,
Upon thine head once shining, is withdrawn,
Though the dark shadows gather on thy sight;
The midnight is the herald of the morn.
God led thee here, to trust, and hope, and learn,
Among the mists of earth: it must be so:
His hand in all thy wanderings to discern,
To testify of that which thou dost know.
When hath He left His tempted ones alone?
Veiled in the cloud behold Him! Friend, press on!
Upon thine head once shining, is withdrawn,
Though the dark shadows gather on thy sight;
The midnight is the herald of the morn.
God led thee here, to trust, and hope, and learn,
Among the mists of earth: it must be so:
His hand in all thy wanderings to discern,
To testify of that which thou dost know.
When hath He left His tempted ones alone?
Veiled in the cloud behold Him! Friend, press on!
Ah! what avails the fleeting happiness
Bestowed by human heart, so dull to see
Its fondest love is foolishness to bless?
And none had chosen thy dark path for thee:
None but the God-man, who Himself hath trod
The way He leads thee, can thy portion choose.
No heart can shelter, save the heart of God,
That thou no ray of glory hence may lose.
A little while—and then His sweet "Well done!"
Awaits thee. Watch, and hope, and still press on.
Bestowed by human heart, so dull to see
Its fondest love is foolishness to bless?
And none had chosen thy dark path for thee:
None but the God-man, who Himself hath trod
The way He leads thee, can thy portion choose.
No heart can shelter, save the heart of God,
That thou no ray of glory hence may lose.
A little while—and then His sweet "Well done!"
Awaits thee. Watch, and hope, and still press on.
Thy God smiles on thee! Though we cannot raise
Our summer songs as when our day shone bright,
He counts submissive sighs as sweet as praise.
Our morning's His; His, too, the darkest night:
Sure that, 'mid all, He keeps thy name engraved
Deep on His loving heart. Soon shalt thou own
That all thy wandering way with love was paved,
Through the dark waters to the great white throne.
Count up the stars that on thy midnight shone,
And bless His hand in all. O friend, press on!
Our summer songs as when our day shone bright,
He counts submissive sighs as sweet as praise.
Our morning's His; His, too, the darkest night:
Sure that, 'mid all, He keeps thy name engraved
Deep on His loving heart. Soon shalt thou own
That all thy wandering way with love was paved,
Through the dark waters to the great white throne.
Count up the stars that on thy midnight shone,
And bless His hand in all. O friend, press on!
The angel of His presence is with thee,
And wondrous things thou canst not now divine
Are born from these lone watches. Shall not He
Gather His myrrh-dew with His spice and wine?
He does not call for songs in winter time
From frozen waters, waveless at His word,
Nor ask for flowers in a sunless clime,
Nor lordly pæans from the unstrung chord.
Thou dost remember Him, though joy hath flown.
Better than wine His love. Be brave—press on!
And wondrous things thou canst not now divine
Are born from these lone watches. Shall not He
Gather His myrrh-dew with His spice and wine?
He does not call for songs in winter time
From frozen waters, waveless at His word,
Nor ask for flowers in a sunless clime,
Nor lordly pæans from the unstrung chord.
Thou dost remember Him, though joy hath flown.
Better than wine His love. Be brave—press on!
There was an hour—all storm-cloud, and no cheer—
When from Gethsemane's dark grove was heard
The supplicating cry; ere, drawing near,
An angel strengthened his suffering Lord.
No angel comes to thee: but He who kept
That vigil, with His heart-blood measuring forth
The depth of untold anguish, while there slept
Close by His side the dearest friends of earth;
His arm encircles thee. Trust Him alone:
The dawn is breaking—falter not, press on!
When from Gethsemane's dark grove was heard
The supplicating cry; ere, drawing near,
An angel strengthened his suffering Lord.
No angel comes to thee: but He who kept
That vigil, with His heart-blood measuring forth
The depth of untold anguish, while there slept
Close by His side the dearest friends of earth;
His arm encircles thee. Trust Him alone:
The dawn is breaking—falter not, press on!