A Poor Pastor's Prayer

Bob Hostetler

A prayer of a pastor, from the George McDonald book, The Curate's Awakening:

Yes, master, when you come you shall find
A little faith on earth, if I am here.
You know how often I turn to you in my mind,
How sad I wait until your face appear!

Have you not ploughed my thorny ground full sore,
And from it gathered many stones and sherds?
Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more--
Then sow your mustard seed, and send your birds.

I love you, Lord: and if I yield to fears,
And cannot trust with triumph that doubt defies,
Remember, Lord, 'tis nearly two thousand years,
And I have never seen you with my eyes.

And when I lift them up from the wondrous tale,
See, all about me so strange, so beautiful a show!
Is that your river running down the vale?
Is that your wind that through the pines does blow?

Couldn't you appear again,
The same who walked the paths of Palestine;
And here in [this land] teach your trusting men,
In church and field and house, with word and sign?

Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest!
My hands on some dear proof would light and stay!
But my heart sees John leaning on your breast,
And sends them forth to do what you did say.