Simon Called Peter

O never cock would crow but he would see
His Master's face as he denied him thrice;
That brooding look which seemed so tenderly
To say, O Peter, Peter, what a price
You pay for your impulsiveness! Could fast
Or tears of penitence redeem the past?
At dawn, on that third day near Calvary,
Did troubled Peter stride, remembering
Each highlight of his Lord's brief ministry,
Seeking for that to which his need must cling,
Some memory to ease the nagging loss
And answer the enigma of the cross?
There was that first proud day when Jesus turned
And gazing on them said, "Come—follow me.
And ye shall fish for men." His words were burned
Into their substance for eternity.
Yea, they had left their nets with one accord
To share the holy purpose of the Lord.
Such marvels they had seen, the human mind
Could scarce accept; the hungry thousands fed,
The lepers cleansed, and scores of maimed and blind
Restored. Could such a vital love be dead?
Or was there deeper meaning to the cross,
Some bit of precious gold from out the dross?
Had thought of tempest stilled on Galilee,
The turning of the water into wine,
Become the finger of infinity
Tracing the pattern of a clear design?
These were no miracles, no rare events,
But changeless law of pure omnipotence.
So musing, could it be that Peter heard,
"And I, if I be lifted up ... will draw
All men unto me"? Had this been the word
That cleared his shackled thought so that he saw
Beyond his human shame and empty loss—
To free mankind, there had to be a cross?
Perhaps this word had so dispelled the gloom
Of Calvary that, facing newborn day
With eager steps directed to the tomb,
He journeyed, and there met him on his way
Those who embraced him, crying joyously,
"The Lord is risen, Peter—come and see!"
No poignant words of history record
His discipline of self on upward way:
But, tempted like him, as we seek the Lord,
We, the impulsive Peters of today,
Find with each mounting step a heartening glow,
For we, like Peter, know. O how we know!