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Mark xvi. 12, 13; Luke xxiv. 13-35.

The Walk To Emmaus.

by E. H. Bennett


Slowly along the rugged pathway walked
Two saddened wayfarers, bent on one quest;
With them Another, who had asked to share
Their travel, since they left the city's walls;
Their converse too intent for speed; and oft,
Where lingered on the rocks the sonset's tints,
They checked their footsteps, careless of the hour
And waning light, and heavy falling dews,
For from the Stranger's lips came words that burned
And lit the altar fuel in their hearts,
Consuming fear and quickening faith at once.
God's words grow luminous as He spoke;
And all along the ages good from ill; 
And light from darkness sprang, as day from night.

Thus on their path they communed, till they reached
The lowly wicket; and their urgent plea,
"Day is far spent, abide with us,'' prevailed.
The lamp is lighted o'er the simple board,
And there is silence for a space; but, lo!
The Stranger takes the bread and blesses it
And breaks; and like a dream, the veil is rent
Which hid their Lord and Master from their gaze;
It is His eye, His hand, His voice, Himself.
Fain had they fallen at His feet, and fain
Clung to Him as of old; it may not be;
His place is empty, but His love is there,
A calm, abiding Presence in their hearts.

O Jesus, Saviour, hear our cry.  We, too,
Are weary travellers on life's rough path,
And Thou art still unchangeably the same.
Come, Lord, to us, and let us walk with Thee;
Come and unfold the words of heavenly life,
Till our souls burn within us, and the day 
Breaks, and the Day-star rises in our hearts.
Yea, Lord, abide with us, rending the veil
Which hides Thee from the loving eye of faith;
Dwell with us to the world's end evermore;
Until thou callest us to dwell with Thee.  E. H. B.
"Tender Grass and Waters of Quietness" 1885



Comments:
David said ...

 

THE ROAD TO EMMAUS

It happen’d on a solemn eventide,
Soon after He that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event:
They spake of Him they loved, of Him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurr’d perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther traced, enrich’d them still the more;
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appear’d to have done;
To exalt a people, and to place them high,
Above all else, and wonder’d he should die.
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger join’d them, courteous as a friend,
And ask’d them, with a kind engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begg’d a share.
Inform’d, he gather’d up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain’d, illustrated, and search’d so well
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell,
That, reaching home, the night, they said, is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here—
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And, made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless’d the bread, but vanish’d at the word.
And left them both exclaiming, ‘Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deign’d to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?

                   ---Cowper 

                   [Selected from his longer poem “Conversation”]

 

Monday, Feb 17, 2020 : 03:08


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