Classic Poem

A SKETCH FROM LIFE, BY MARY D. LEE .

The Saviour's feast was spread. Group after group
From Zion's scattering band, now silent throng'd
Around the sacred table, glad to pay
(As far as sinful, erring men can pay)
Their debt of gratitude, and share anew
The plain memorials of his dying love,
All ranks were gather'd there. The rich and poor:
The ignorant and wise; the tear-wet soul,
And the glad spirit yet in sunshine clad;
All, with their many hopes, and cares and griefs,
Sought, quiet and unmarked, their 'customed place,
And still at the full banquet there was room.—
It was a solemn season; and I sat
Wrapt in a cloud of thought, until a slow
And measured footstep fell upon my ear;
And when I turned to look, and aged man
Of threescore years and ten appeared to view.
It was the blind Communicant! He came,
Led by a friendly hand, and took his place
Nearest the table, with a reverent air,
As if he felt the spot was holy ground—
There was a perfect hush!—The hour was come!
The symbols were disclosed, and soon they rose
The sweet tones of the sheperd of the flock,
Telling once more the story of the Cross;
And as he spoke, in sympathy! gazed
Upon the blind old pilgrim by my side.
The sight was touching! As the Pastor taught,
In accents all subdued, how Jesus bore
The flight of friends, the stern denial-vow,
The spear, the thorns, the agonizing cross,
With want, shame, persecution, torture, death,
The old man shook, convulsed; his ebon brow
Grew pallid in its hue; a few big tears
Ran trickling down his cheek, and from his lip
Methought there came the words, “ Lord, is it I? ”
But when there stole upon each listening ear
And throbbing heart, that prayer of matchless love,
That type and watch-word for all after-prayer,
“Father, forgive them!” then he clasp'd his hands,
And bowing his hoar head upon his breast,
Wept, even as a weaned child might weep.
 There was a change! The bread and wine were brought,
He wiped the gushing drops from his thin cheek,
Bowed solemnly—received them both—then paused—
Till, raising his dull eye-balls up to heaven,
As asking for God's blessing on the rite,
He broke the bread, received the goblet close
Within his wither'd hands; restored it safe;—
Then, while a peaceful smile illum'd his face;
Sank back as in an ecstacy of bliss.
The parting hymn was sung, and oft I paus'd
And stopped to listen, as the old man's voice,
Broken and shrill, sought too to mingle in
With modulated tones, and though his lip
Utter'd no music, yet I joyed to know
The heart was all link'd-melody within.
Christ's seal was stamp'd anew upon each soul;
The solemn rite was finished, and the band,
Warmed to each kindly touch of human love,
Moved, full of thoughtful cheerfulness, along
The quiet church-yard, where gay sunbeams danced
On the white marble tombs, and bright flowers made
A pleasant home for Death; while 'mongst them all
The blind Communicant went groping on
Along his midnight path. The sight was sad!
My heart yearn'd for him—and I longed for power
To say, as the disciples said of old,
“Blind man! receive thy sight,”—and in the might
Of strong compassion, I could e'en, methought,
Have entered his dark prison-house awhile
And let him gaze in turn, on the blue skies,
And the glad sunshine, and the laughing earth.
But soon I owned a sense of higher things,
And in the heart's soft dialect I said,
“Old soldier of the Cross, 'tis well with thee!
Thy warfare is nigh finished; and though Earth
Be but an utter blank, yet soon thou'lt gaze
On that bright country where thy God shall be
The never-setting Sun; and Christ, thy Lord,
Will lead thee through green pastures, where the still
And living waters play. And though thou art
A creature lonely and unpriz'd by men ,
Yet thou mayst stand a Prince 'mongst Princes, when
The King makes up his jewels!”