The nets were limp and idle; they had caught
But grass and drifting seaweed; yet through all
The weary night, of him the fishers thought,
Uncomprehending, yearning for his call—
When lo, at morn there came across the sea
A sound to thrill their hearts, and turn defeat
To victory: he asked them lovingly
And gently, "Children, have ye any meat?"
And in that wondrous hush of dawning light
Upon their waking senses softly fell
The love-inspired command, "Cast on the right
And ye shall find," and, knowing all was well,
They dipped their nets again, for, doubtings past,
They tarried not, they questioned not, but cast.
What wonder that the take should so abound!
Heart-full with gladness, hastening to obey,
Unquestioning, how could these men be found
But with their nets full? For faith-filled, could they
Be empty now? Their cup of joy o'erran,
And night, and toil, and failure were forgot.
Here was their Master calling them again,
And recent sorrow was remembered not.
Ah, in each hour, each moment, we may turn
From toilsome thinking, and behold the dawn
Of healing truth, in which we too may learn
Surcease from sorrow, and still following on,
May witness, as those fishermen of yore,
His sacred reappearing on the shore.
