YE MEN OF GOODWILL.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 305, 24 December 1891, Page 2 (Supplement)

YE MEN OF GOODWILL.

By Hezekiah Butterworth.

A CHRISTMAS ROMANCE.

Ik his pastoral tent a young minstrel laf sleeping, His harp by his side, and the flocks at his feet; The watchmen afar David's city were keeping*. Where in cool olive gardens the wmde murmured sweet. Of Zion was dreaming the wandering Tubal, When, lo ! in the heaven God's city shone clear; And,sweeter than harps of che minstrels j£ Jubal, A chorus seraphic awakened his ear. His hand clasped his harp, and his young face upturning, He went from his tent to the chambers of night; With arches of angels the heavens were burning , . And the night-watch of shepherds stood speechless and white. The pure stars were dimmed in the clouda of evangels, The bowed skies were singing o'er Bethle* hem's hill, And his own simple heart caught the strain of the angels, The sweet benediction to win of goodwill. He had sung in the Temple the chorals of Koran ; The anthems of Asaph; had heard the grand psalma, When Jerusalem marched with her children before her, In jubilees glorious with viola ani palms, But never such music as this. And hg wandered From sheepfold to sheepfold, from valley to hill, To the palm-shaded wells where the Nazarites pondered. To bear the glad tidings to men of goodwill, And oft—as he told to the herdsmen the . story, To the shepherds of Ephrata watching the fold, To the dark camel-driver 3, sun-wrinkled and hoary— His harp caught the strain of the night harps of gold. 1 Ye men of goodwill, hear my message and ponder, As ye rest in the cool of the olives and palms ; My harp, angel-haunted, compels me to wander, And sing the new strain of the Light of the Psalms. ' I love the cool wells where the worn camels slumber; The dew-drinking lilies, the flocks lying still ; But more than the anthems of Asaph, that number The night angels sung me, ye men of' ';■ good-will. ' Peace, pease, sing my harp, for the world is distressed And waits for the light of the comforting word, Who beareth good-will to his brother ia blessed, And 2ood-will to men is the will of tha Lord. 'It came not, the strain, to the temples 1 of Isis ; The priests heard ifc not on the Palatine Hill : ■ ■ E'en Zion was deaf as the shrines of Osiris, It came fco the shepherds, O men of goodwill. ' The conqueror slept in his throne chamber matted, With only his golden-lamp breaking the , gloom ; , , The 'sentinel leaned on the dark caryatid And guarded the priest in his peristyled room. ' And that wondrous nighb passed ; Heaven opened its portals, The promise of ages it bent to fulfil ; andthe herald saw not the immortals ; The vision came only to men of "ood« will. ' Since my ear heard the voice, all men are my brothers; The harp that I carry responds to each woe; And I leave the cool palm trees and olivea to others, And into the glare of the desert I go. ' When falls the wild storm, and the shepherds have covered Their flocks from the sky, I feel my harp thrill, And I tell of the bright slouds of angela that hovered O"er Bethlehem, singing to men of goodwill. ' The world wends its way in the shadow of sorrow ; Woe kneels at the Beautiful Gate, as of old ; Aud kings lift their eyes for some better to-morrow, And bitter lips empty the goblets of gold. 'And so my harp follows all footsteps distressed ; And so I must leave you a wanderer still. To sing to tho shepherds the song of the blessed,' And play the sweet message to men of goodwill !' He hied to the helpless, to slaves in their trammels,. To the death-haunted lepers, who slept mid the dews ; To the wells of the desert, where thirsted the camels; To the rocks and the pitfalls where wandered the ewes. So peacefully singing, the calm years t passed o'er him— \ One night when the winde of the deserto were etill. He died, with the voiceless Spbynx rising before him, And wenb with the angels of peace and goodwill. Still to men of good-will sings the harp angel-haunted. *" \ Have ye heard it to-day ? Have ye caughfi the sweet strain ? Every heart is a chord to which angels have chanted, As once to the heralds of Bethlehem's plain. The sheepcotes have gone and the camel bells ringing, The cry of the ewes ; but, ah ! sorrowful still Is the heart of the world o'er which Heaven is singing— Go echo the angels, ye men of good-will I