Poem December 16, 1950 Issue

THE FOURTH GOSPEL

Pierrepont E. Twitchell

He sits in quiet thought, and by his side
A young disciple listens till he speaks:
"They do not tell enough. There yet abide
Such memories of him one humbly seeks
To set them down. My child, record each word,
And I will strive to tell you just a few
The wondrous things he did, the words we heard
Which Mark did not repeat and Matthew knew
But did not write. But where shall I commence?
At Nazareth? No. Nor Bethlehem's shining star.
The light that shone from out the night so dense,
It was the Christ, the Logos. Yea, the far
Beginning was the Word. The Word was God.

"The day is over and the sun is set.
The Comforter is with us here tonight.
The Master told us we would not forget.
Dear child, please fill the lamp; let us have light.
I must keep faith and give you every word
He gave us at that last Passover meal.
We must not lose one breath of what I heard,
His message left to guide us and to heal.

"The lamp is dying. We will tell no more.
The dawn is breaking. Let us go to sleep.
Just add that story: on the dawn-lit shore
The Master said, 'Feed my lambs, my sheep.' " Pierrepont E. Twitchell

Send a comment to the editors

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE

Editorial

"HAVING DONE ALL, TO STAND"