IN travelling guise they held the Paschal Feast
In olden days.
With loins girt about, and shoes on feet,
And staves in hand, they met and shared the meat,
And gave God praise.
No lingering at the banquet; each man took
His portion due,
And swiftly hied him forth, even as did
His fathers, worn slaves of the pyramid,
Zion in view.
A single morsel might suffice for some,
Snatched as they went;
On promise and on type their souls were fed,
So, though their bodies lacked a little bread,
They were content.
And even thus, my soul, be it with thee,
This Easter Day.
With loins girt about, and staff in hand,
As one made ready for the Promised Land,
Who may not stay;
Come, then. The feast is spread which angels still
Desire to taste;
Take thou thy crumb, nor wait for farther good,
To bask and batten on immortal food,
But rise in haste;
And get thee forth to the hard-trodden way,
The toil and tire,
The wilderness with many thorns beset,
O’er which the cloudy pillar hovers yet,
The guiding fire.
The Promised Land it beckons fair and far,
Beyond thy view.
And though the foe be fierce, and travail long,
The Lord shall hold thee up, and keep thee strong,
And guide thee through.
Then, at the upper table, safely set,
Thou mayst abide
In full security and rest at last,
With all the thirst and hunger of the past
Quite satisfied.