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.

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