Poem March 25, 1911 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

THE MASTER'S CALL

MARY A. NEWMAN.

Into a desert place come ye apart,
The loving Master said, and rest awhile;
For earthly hopes and joys have claimed thy heart
And human ways and means thy thoughts beguile.
Ye cannot hear me as ye pass along,
Lured by the pleasures of the busy mart;
My voice unheeded falls upon the throng:
Into a desert place come ye apart.

Have ye no leisure for the needed food,—
The grace and guidance for thy daily bread;
Into a quiet place of solitude
Come, rest awhile, the loving Master said.
This is thy call to me, O Saviour mine!
And gladly, thankfully, will I obey;
Will simply place my trembling hand in thine,
And trusting, follow where thou lead'st the way.

The way thou choosest is the path for me;
Amid the bracken, thorns, and rugged stone;
What sweeter benediction can there be
Than in a desert place with thee alone?
And in the sweet communion of that rest—
Learning anew the lesson, Peace, be still—
In meekness would I wait on thy behest,
In deepest joy thy loving word fulfil.

Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.

Send a comment to the editors
NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
FROM OUR EXCHANGES
March 25, 1911
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit