Classic Poem

A poor wayfaring pilgrim came, of old,
To Zion's Gate, the City of our God,
And there, beside the Shepherd's happy fold,
Addressed the throng her golden courts who trod:

" Tell me, O children of Jerusalem!
Where dwells the Prince of Peace ye love so well,
That I may go and touch His garment's hem;
O tell me where does your Beloved dwell?

" For peace long have I sought in many a spot,
In huts of penury, in halls of pride;
And still I seek, but yet I find it not, —
Peace ever flies before my rapid stride.

" Restless, I wander, but where'er I go
Goes evil with me: this I cannot flee;
A shadow of some strange, impending woe,
As if formed from myself, still follows me.

" Accusing Guilt sits heavy on my heart,
Recounting all my sins from Memory's scroll;
The worm Remorse gnaws at my vital part,
And Justice stands to seize my trembling soul.

" I 've asked in vain the oracles of Time, —
Wise men and sages, — Whither shall I go?
They point in different ways, in every clime,
And din my ears, but cannot heal my woe.

" I 've asked of Nature, for her words are blest,
And I have loved her from my days of youth,
And hung with rapture on her loving breast,
And drunk sweet waters from her wells of truth.

" But she was silent. Thus did she confess,
With all her wealth of wisdom and of song,
With all her beauty and her power to bless,
She could not give the good for which I long.

" I 've asked of Reason: but her cheerless light
Shone dimly round my ever aching head;
The torch she held to help my feeble sight
Was like cold moonbeams shining on the dead.

" O, tell me, then, ye children of the light!
Where dwells your Prince of Peace, and lead me where
His words of love may cleave the walls of night, —
This living death, — this prison of despair. "

Thus spake the pilgrim to that simple throng,
Who erst had sought for peace from shore to shore.
They, listening, for a moment hushed their song,
Then louder sang and sweeter than before,

And pointed to the Shepherd of the fold,
Who on the hill of Calvary poured His blood
That men might sit in seats of shining gold,
In the eternal palaces of God.

He looked, and godlike pity met his eyes;
The Gate flew open for his willing feet;
Upon him fell a mantle from the skies;
And angels led him to a shining seat.

A stream of music from his broken heart
Gushed forth, like water from the stricken rock;
He found the peace the world cannot impart,
By looking to the Shepherd of His Flock.