Poem March 15, 1900 Issue

Sweet Rebuke

BY ELLA S. SARGENT.

His faithful ones, the Master said,
The sick would surely heal;
Would "cleanse the leper," "raise the dead,"
And God, in flesh, reveal.

Less barren, Father, seems the tree,
More fertile, desert sands
Than I, who yield no fruit to Thee
Save prayer-enfolded hands!

To Thee some first-fruits I could bring
If self gave o'er its fight;
My lame would leap, my dumb would sing,
My blind, receive their sight.

One heard my restless, fevered fret,
And, soft rebuking, said,—
"For others work! Thyself forget;
Be thus, by Spirit led!"

The fruit of Spirit, now I see,
Is meekness under wrong,
And joy, and faith from fear set free,
A love that suffers long;

A love that seeketh not her own,
A peace without alarm,
A gentleness and goodness shown
In temperance and calm.

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