I must go on: my hand is put unto the plow:
The wind blows cold: the sluggard leaves the sod unturned:
Nor cares that in the time of harvest he must beg.
But I have seen a Ploughman, spite of wind and snow,
Plough an unbending furrow to the end:
And, ceaseless in his toil, break up the fallow ground.
And through the mist and murk of unpropitious days
Lay up in store the summer's golden harvest joy.
That Ploughman is the Master of my soul:
Therefore, in spite of storm and stress, like Him,
I must go on.
I must fight on: I have in conscience drawn the sword.
The fight is hard: the armed Ephraimites may flee
And fill the streets of Gath and Askelon with mirth:
But I have seen a Warrior take the field alone,
Unsheath His sword against infernal foes,
And, with undaunted soul, cut through the serried ranks
And though forsaken of men He came to save.
Pour out His blood to win for them the victor's crown.
That Warrior is the Captain of my soul.
And, I though I should stand alone, like Him-
I must fight on!
And I must love: my heart is longer not my own.
The world allures, and fickle hearts may turn aside.
Nor care that ashes mark the place of yester's flame:
But I have seen a Lover, spite of scorn and hate,
Love through an agony of blood and tears;
And, ceaseless in His love for e'en His enemies,
Lay down his life, forsaken of the earth and sky.
And, rising, win a bride, and ring the marriage bells!
That Lover is the Lover of my soul:
And I, unto the endless end, like Him,
I too must love.
-T.T. SHIELDS
4 years ago
