---

John Greenleaf Whittier - The Cypress-Tree Of Ceylon
Work rating: Low

THEY sat in silent watchfulness
The sacred cypress-tree about,
And, from beneath old wrinkled brows,
Their failing eyes looked out.

Gray Age and Sickness waiting there
Through weary night and lingering day,--
Grim as the idols at their side,
And motionless as they.

Unheeded in the boughs above
The song of Ceylon`s birds was sweet;
Unseen of them the island flowers
Bloomed brightly at their feet.

O`er them the tropic night-storm swept,
The thunder crashed on rock and hill;
The cloud-fire on their eyeballs blazed,
Yet there they waited still!

What was the world without to them?
The Moslem`s sunset-call, the dance
Of Ceylon`s maids, the passing gleam
Of battle-flag and lance?

They waited for that falling leaf
Of which the wandering Jogees sing:
Which lends once more to wintry age
The greenness of its spring.

Oh, if these poor and blinded ones
In trustful patience wait to feel
O`er torpid pulse and failing limb
A youthful freshness steal;

Shall we, who sit beneath that Tree
Whose healing leaves of life are shed,
In answer to the breath of prayer,
Upon the waiting head;

Not to restore our failing forms,
And build the spirit`s broken shrine,
But on the fainting soul to shed
A light and life divine--

Shall we grow weary in our watch,
And murmur at the long delay?
Impatient of our Father`s time
And His appointed way?

Or shall the stir of outward things
Allure and claim the Christian`s eye,
When on the heathen watcher`s ear
Their powerless murmurs die?

Alas! a deeper test of faith
Than prison cell or martyr`s stake,
The self-abasing watchfulness
Of silent prayer may make.

We gird us bravely to rebuke
Our erring brother in the wrong,--
And in the ear of Pride and Power
Our warning voice is strong.

Easier to smite with Peter`s sword
Than "watch one hour" in humbling prayer.
Life`s "great things," like the Syrian lord,
Our hearts can do and dare.

But oh! we shrink from Jordan`s side,
From waters which alone can save;

And murmur for Abana`s banks
And Pharpar`s brighter wave.

O Thou, who in the garden`s shade
Didst wake Thy weary ones again,
Who slumbered at that fearful hour
Forgetful of Thy pain;

Bend o`er us now, as over them,
And set our sleep-bound spirits free,
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch
Our souls should keep with Thee!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.