Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find A little faith on earth, if I am here! Thou know’st how oft I turn to thee my mind, How sad I wait until thy face appear!
Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, And from it gathered many stones and sherds? Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds.
I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, Remember, Lord, ‘tis nigh two thousand years, And I have never seen thee with mine eyes.
And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, See, all about me has so strange a show! Is that thy river running down the vale? Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow?
Couldst thou right verily appear again, The same who walked the paths of Palestine, And here in England teach thy trusting men, In church and field and house, with word and sign?
Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest!-- My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, And sends them forth to do what thou dost say.
“Extraordinary young man!” exclaimed Mrs. Ramshorn as they left the church, with a sigh that expressed despair. “Is he an infidel or a fanatic? a Jesuit or a Socinian?”
“If he would pay a little more attention to his composition,” said Bascombe indifferently, “he might in time make of himself a good speaker. I am not at all sure there are not the elements of an orator in him, if he would only reflect a little on the fine relations between speech and passion, and learn of the best models how to play upon the feelings of a congregation. I declare I don’t know, but he might make a great man of himself. As long as he don’t finish his sentences however, jumbles his figures, and begins and ends abruptly without either exordium or peroration, he needn’t look to make anything of a preacher--and that seems his object.”
“If that be his object, he had better join the Methodists at once. He would be a treasure to them,” said Mrs. Ramshorn.
“That is not his object, George. How can you say so?” remarked Helen quietly, but with some latent indignation.
George smiled a rather unpleasant smile and held his peace.
Little more was said on the way home. Helen went to take off her bonnet, but did not re-appear until she was called to their early Sunday dinner.