Poem Hunter
John Wesley
(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

John Wesley

Since last he looked on earth an age

Of rounded years is gone ;
But working still, with joy and 'peace for wage,

His soul goes marching on.

A hundred years have passed away, and yet,

Altho' the time was long,
The children that he taught cannot forget

The singer or his song.

He lit the lamps along the darkened track,

That men their way might win ;
He pushed the curtains that hid heaven back

And let the sunlight in.

He brushed aside the thorns of scorn and malice,

And kept his onward way
The frown of power or the pride of palace

Ne'er darked his shining day.

He planted fig trees in the desert places :

He pruned the barren parts :
He shed a light upon the people's faces,

And warmed their hopeless hearts.

The chains of cold neglect and sloth he sundered :

He beat their walls amain ;
And thro' the land the splendid anthem thundered

That Christ was born again.

And then the world awoke, and its awaking

Shook mountain top and glen ;
The teacher saw the hands of angels shaking

The outstretched hands of men.

And ever since the tide of life is flowing

The wakened hosts to save ;
And ever since the flowers of love are growing

On Wesley's honored grave.

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