The Call

Mother of her who is close to my heart Cease to chide! For no small thing must I wander afar From the tender arms and lips of my bride­ My love with eyes like the glowing star In the twilight sky apart. Coulds't thou have seen Him standing there Ere the day was born, With the mild high look that was like a prayer, Thou woulds't not marvel that I must leave all I hold most dear to answer the call Of that wonderful morn. We were casting our nets in the sea, Andrew and I; Over the mountains a young wind came To kiss the waters of Galilee, And in the calm blue northern sky The gleaming crest of old Hermon rose Girt with its diadem of snows, And the east was smit with flame. All our thoughts were simple and glad As toilers' should be; Andrew, that careless, dark-eyed lad Sang a song right merrily, Joyous of melody and word, As he worked with oar and net and sail, But I dreamed of the face that would blush and pale When my step should be heard! Then, as we lifted heedless eyes, We saw Him there, Where the silver waters curled on the shore; Behind Him the radiance of the skies Shining over His long, fair hair Wreathed it as with a crown of light; And oh, the grandeur and the grace Of that pale and kingly face­ We were weary and hungered with toil of the night But we thought not of it more!, He looked upon us with eyes that must see Far in our hearts past mortal ken; All the delights of the world grew dim­ Sweeter is seemed to suffer pain And wander, outcast of men with Him, Than share in another's joy and gain; Spake He thus royally, "Come with me; I will make you fishers of men." Mother of her who weeps at my side Cease to chide! Thou knowest not how that one word rings Ever by day and by night in my ear, I cannot hearken to olden things I cannot listen to hope or fear; Mother of her who is dearest of all, I must follow the Nazarene's call!