Poem June 17, 1939 Issue

Love's Minstrelsy

MILES BUCKSTON WATTS

King Saul was sick; an evil spirit lay
Upon his soul; no respite could he find.
So David took an harp and with his hand
Swept the mute strings with eager gentleness,
Weaving sweet melody from out his heart
In warm compassion toward his stricken lord.
When, lo, the fever swiftly fled away;
Dark images of fear, which seemed so real,
Were banished from the dull, discordant mind,
And Saul arose refreshed, and so was well.

Dear Father, may I ever humbly keep
My thought in true and meek accord with Thine,
That, when unto the suffering and the sad
I would extend a ready sympathy,
The hand of Love may tune my listening ear
To catch the measure of Soul's rhythmic strain
And by its tender tone my heart inspire
To wake their silent chords with touch divine
To joyful praise and songs of gratitude.
Then, as King Saul, they too shall rise renewed,
Healed by the music of Love's minstrelsy.