Feed My Lambs.

Just before the bright cloud the Saviour received,
When about to return to his father in Heaven;
His mission accomplished, his work on earth done,
'Twas then that this parting injunction was given:

"Feed my lambs!" this was said to one of the twelve,
Whom he called to be with him while sojourning here;
"Feed my lambs!" Oh, what love was evinced by those words,
What tender compassion, what fatherly care.

Three times at this meeting the question was asked,
"Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?"
And though grieved, yet how truly could Peter reply,
"Lord thou knowest all things, thou know'st I love thee."

Thrice this same Peter his Lord had denied,
And had he not reason reproaches to fear?
Oh, no! for his Saviour had all this forgiven,
He saw his repentance, he knew it sincere.

That disciple soon followed his Lord whom he loved,
And many long ages have since passed away;
But the parting command still remains in full force,
And will ever remain so till time's latest day.

Many wolves in sheep's clothing are still to be found,
Whom Satan fails not to instruct and employ;
They enter the fold, and with most specious wiles,
Seek the young of the flock to ensnare and destroy.

And shall we dare call ourselves followers of Christ,
And yet his known precepts presume to evade?
Ah! stop and reflect, what's the test that's required?
"If ye love me, keep my commandments," he said.

June 26, 1852.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow was an American poet whose works often reflected themes of nature and personal sentiment. Though not widely known today, she contributed to the literary scene of her time with a delicate touch and a keen observation of the world around her. Her poetry, characterized by its emotive language and thoughtful composition, provides a window into the sensibilities of her era. While specific details about her life remain sparse, her literary legacy continues through her published works and the resonance they hold for readers.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

A Pastoral.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Winter.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow, Simple Poetry

To Mr. C.R.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow, Simple Poetry

November.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow, Simple Poetry

English

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For The S.S. Concert, In The Wayland Orthodox Church.

Feed my lambs! the Saviour said,
Near two thousand years ago;
If we truly love the Lord,
By obedience, love we'll show.

What was said to Peter then,
In that distant age and clime,
Sure is binding on us now,
Here and to the end of time.

If our Shepherd then we love,
His commandments we'll obey;
Let us true disciples prove,
Feed his lambs as best we may.

Twice twelve years have passed this day,[2]
Since our Sabbath School commenced;
Countless lessons have been learned,
Much instruction been dispensed.

Let us up and doing be,
Sow the seed all times and hours;
Cast our bread on water even,
Tax with vigor all our powers.

May the teachers now engaged,
Courage take, and persevere;
They'll not fail of their r...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Lovest Thou Me? - John xxi.16.

Hark, my soul! it is the Lord:
Tis thy Saviour, hear his word;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee:
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?


I deliverd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heald thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turnd thy darkness into light.


Can a womans tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.


Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above;
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.


Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be: -
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?


Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my l...

William Cowper

The Sheep And The Goat

    The thousand streets of London gray
    Repel all country sights;
    But bar not winds upon their way,
    Nor quench the scent of new-mown hay
    In depth of summer nights.

    And here and there an open spot,
    Still bare to light and dark,
    With grass receives the wanderer hot;
    There trees are growing, houses not--
    They call the place a park.

    Soft creatures, with ungentle guides,
    God's sheep from hill and plain,
    Flow thitherward in fitful tides,
    There weary lie on woolly sides,
    Or crop the grass amain.

    And from dark alley, yard, and den,
    In ragged skirts and coats,
    Come thither children of poor men,
    Wild things, untaught of word or pen--
    The little human goats.
...

George MacDonald

Tell Peter

And Simon Peter stood and warmed himself. John 18:25.


Peter, it was not outward cold
But inward chill thy bosom froze,
Made thee deny with falsehood bold
Thy Lord and Master to his foes.
When we find cheer at Satan's fires
The world is there to work us harm,
To deaden all our pure desires
With its deceitful lure and charm.

Peter, the voice of chanticleer
Fulfilled what Christ had prophesied;
And oh, that pitying look sincere
From him whom thou hadst just denied!
Thy burst of penitential grief!
Heaven those tears did surely send.
Tears give the burdened heart relief;
Dry anguish may its tendrils rend.

Sin soon will crucify our Lord,
Thy sin, and all the world's beside.
He gave himself, the Living Word,
Our shel...

Nancy Campbell Glass

November.

Remember the poor, in the dark chilly day,
When November's loud winds are fierce blowing;
Remember the poor, at thy plentiful board,
When the fire on thy bright hearth is glowing.

Remember the poor in yon damp dismal shed,
Without food, fire, or clothing to warm them;
And not like the Priest or the Levite pass by,
But Samaritan like stop and cheer them.

Remember the slave, the poor down trodden slave,
And do all in thy power to relieve him;
And when from oppression he strives to be free,
Do thou open thy gate to receive him.

For what saith the Lord is thy duty to such,
"To his master thou shalt not return him,"[3]
But give him a home near thy own if he likes,
And be sure not to vex or oppress him.

When parents or children or brethren yo...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

The Good Shepherd With The Kid

He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save.
So rang Tertullian's sentence, on the side
Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect which cried:
"Him can no fount of fresh forgiveness lave,

Who sins, once washed by the baptismal wave."
So spake the fierce Tertullian. But she sighed,
The infant Church! of love she felt the tide
Stream on her from her Lord's yet recent grave.

And then she smiled; and in the Catacombs,
With eye suffused but heart inspired true,
On those walls subterranean, where she hid

Her head in ignominy, death, and tombs,
She her good Shepherd's hasty image drew
And on his shoulders, not a lamb, a kid.

Matthew Arnold