Not Yet

"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for thee."

            *            *            *            *            *

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."


Not yet, not yet, O Saviour,
    Although thou callest me
In life's unclouded morning
    Why should I follow thee?
The world and all its pleasures
    Outspread before me lie,
When I have grasped its treasures
    I'll hear thee, by and by.

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour! -
    True, thou hast called me long,
Yet, almost more than ever,
    I love the world's glad song!
Say not the years are hasting
    With rapid footsteps by, -
Say not life's sands are wasting,
    But call me by and by!

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!
    I have no time to stay;
The goal tow'rd which I hasten
    Is now not far away.
Another day - and haply
    The triumph I shall see,
And grasp my crown of vic'try, -
    Then, I will call for thee!

            *            *            *

No more, no more, O sinner,
    The Saviour's call is o'er!
The door is shut forever,
    To be unclosed no more! -
So late the hour and lonely,
    So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
    To bless thee, will not hear!

Past is the harvest-gladness,
    The summer-bloom is o'er,
Thy sun has set in sadness,
    To rise-oh, nevermore!
So late the hour and lonely,
    So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
    To bless thee, will not hear!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Weary.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

An Allegory - An Old Lesson In A New Dress.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

To A Motherless Babe.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Be Still.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Now.

"Now is the accepted time."


                    Now, sinner, now!
Not in the future, when thy longed-for measure
Thou hast attained, of fame, or power, or pleasure,
When thy full coffers swell with hoarded treasure,
                    Not then, but now.
God's time may not be thine. When thou art willing,
His Spirit may have taken flight forever,
No more thy soul with keen conviction filling,
Softening thy spirit to repentance never, -
                    Now, sinner, now!

                    Now, Christian, now!
Look round, and see what souls are daily dying;
List! - everywhere the voice of human crying
Smiteth the ear; - the moan, the plaint, the sighing,
                    Come even now.
Rise! gird thyself; - go forth where sorrow ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Longings

Sleep, gentle, mysterious healer,
    Come down with thy balm-cup to me!
Come down, O thou mystic revealer
    Of glories the day may not see!
For dark is the cloud that is o'er me,
    And heavy the shadows that fall,
And lone is the pathway before me,
    And far-off the voice that doth call -
        Faintly, yet tenderly ever,
            From over the dark river, call.

Let me bask for an hour in the sun-ray
    That wraps him forever in light;
Awhile tread his flowery pathway
    Through bowers of unfailing delight; -
Again clasp the hands I lost sight of
    In the chill mist that hung o'er the tide,
What time, with the pale, silent boatman,
    I saw him away from me glide -
        Out into the fathomless myst'ry,
            All s...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

I Will Not Let Thee Go.

        Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the midnight glideth slow, -
Though the darkness deep and long
Dim the sight and hush the song,
On thy tender, faithful breast,
Find I still my perfect rest -
Soothing sweet for keenest woe -
And I will not let thee go!

        Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the morn's enkindling glow
Flame along the mountain-height.
Flooding all the hills with light;
What can morning bring to me,
Tender Shepherd, wanting thee?
What its songs but sobs of woe?
Nay, I will not let thee go!

        Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the day no shadows know;
Though, the sky's serene to dim,
Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim;
Whom have I in Heaven but thee? -
What beside hath earth for me? -

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

By And By

        God will not let His bright gifts die
If I may not sing my songs just now
        I shall sing them by and by


A young man with a Poet's soul,
    And a Poet's kindling eye -
Dark, dreamy, full of unvoiced thought -
    And forehead calm and high,
Toiled wearily at his heavy task
    Till his soul grew sick with pain,
And the pent up fires that burned within
    Seemed withering heart and brain

"Work, work, work!" he murmured low,
    Glancing up at the golden west -
Work, with the sunset heavens aglow
    By the hands of angels dressed,
Work for this perishing, human clay,
    While the soul, like a prisoned bird,
Flutters its helpless wings always
    By passionate longings stirred

"I hear in the wandering...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Onward

Onward, still on! - though the pathway be dreary, -
    Though few be the fountains that gladden the way, -
Though the tired spirit grow feeble and weary,
    And droop in the heat of the toil-burdened day;
Green in the distance the hills of thy Canaan
    Lift their bright heads in a tenderer light,
Where the full boughs with rich fruits overladen
    Spread their luxurious treasures in sight.

Onward, still onward! - around us are falling
    Lengthening shadows as daylight departs;
Up from the past mournful voices are calling,
    Often we pause with irresolute hearts.
Wherefore look backward? - the flower thou didst gather
    Wounded thy hand with the thorn it concealed, -
Onward, and stay not! - the voice of thy Father
    Calls thee to glory and bliss u...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Strike The Chords Softly

Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers,
    While, on the threshold of happiest years,
For a brief moment fond memory lingers,
    Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears!

Strike the chords softly! - yet no, as we tarry,
    Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
    Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.

Let us not linger! - Earth's millions are crying
    "Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying -
    Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"

Let us not linger! - our brethren are calling, -
    "Aid us, the harvest increases each day; -
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling! -
    Others have passed from their labors away."

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)