Classic Poem

Fifty times the years have turned,
Since the heart within him burned
With its wistfulness to be
An apostle sent of thee.

Closely in his Master's tread
Still to follow, till he read
Tone of voice and look of face,
Print of wound and sign of grace.

Reading there for fifty years,
Pressing after, till the tears
And the smiles would come and go
At the self-same joy and woe, —

Sharing with him shouts of " Mad!"
When the bold front to the bad
Bent to pluck the " little ones"
From the feet of fellow-sons, —

Sharing in his inner peace,
Sharing all but his release, —
He is with us while the chimes
Ring our blessing fifty times.

Listening boys across the field
Hear, and hope they may not yield:
Are they listening from the air, —
Boys who started with him there?