I canna tell that, Mr. Ericson. It canna be
gaein' to the kirk, surely. Maybe it micht be sayin' yer prayers
and readin' yer Bible.'
Ericson did not reply, and the conversation dropped. Is it strange
that neither of these disciples should have thought of turning to
the story of Jesus, finding some word that he had spoken, and
beginning to do that as a first step towards a knowledge of the
doctrine that Jesus was the incarnate God, come to visit his
people--a very unlikely thing to man's wisdom, yet an idea that has
notwithstanding ascended above man's horizon, and shown itself the
grandest idea in his firmament?
In the evening Ericson asked again for his papers, from which he
handed Robert the following poem:--
WORDS IN THE NIGHT.
I woke at midnight, and my heart,
My beating heart said this to me:
Thou seest the moon how calm and bright
The world is fair by day and night,
But what is that to thee?
One touch to me--down dips the light
Over the land and sea.
All is mine, all is my own!
Toss the purple fountain high!
The breast of man is a vat of stone;
I am alive, I, only I!
One little touch and all is dark;
The winter with its sparkling moons
The spring with all her violets,
The crimson dawns and rich sunsets,
The autumn's yellowing noons.
I only toss my purple jets,
And thou art one that swoons
Upon a night of gust and roar,
Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems
Across the purple hills to roam;
Sweet odours touch him from the foam,
And downward sinking still he dreams
He walks the clover field at home,
And hears the rattling teams.
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