Classic Poem

AND shrink ye still?—He nearer draws,
And to His mission and His cause
Welcomes His own with words of grace and might
“Peace be to you!”—their peace, who stand
In sentry with God's sword in hand,
The peace of Christ's lov'd champions warring in His sight

“Peace be to you!”—their peace, who feel
E'en as the Son the Father's seal,
So they the Son's; each in his several sphere
Gliding on fearless angel wing,
One heart in all, one hope, one King,
Each an Apostle true, a crown'd and robed seer.

Sent as the Father sent the Son,
'Tis not for you to swerve nor shun
Or power or peril; ye must go before:
If caught in the fierce bloody shower,
Think on your Lord's o'erwhelming hour;
Are ye not priests to Him who the world's forfeit bore?

Throned in His Church till He return,
Why should ye fear to judge and spurn
This evil world, chain'd at His feet and yours?
Why with dejected faltering air
Your rod of more than empire bear?
Your brows are royal yet; God's unction aye endures.