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Title: Who Hath Believed Our Report?
Author: John Castillo [
More Titles by Castillo]
Isaiah liii. 1.
“Who hath believed our report?”
The agonizing prophet cried;
Where do the wandering tribes resort,
For whom the King of Glory died?
His goodness doth before them pass,
The fairest of ten thousand He,
Yet sin bewilders, and alas,
In Him they can no beauty see.
His Kingly presence they deny,
While round their altars they resort,
Well might the grieved prophet cry,
“Who hath believed our report?”
“Away with such a one,” they cry,
“Let timbrels sound, and damsels sing,
This strange impostor crucify,
For none but Cæsar is our King!”
Slain in the streets the martyrs lie,
Who strove His kingdom to support,
Well might the trembling prophet cry,
“Who hath believed our report?”
His ministers to make Him known,
Their time, and strength, and souls devote,
Yet oft in sorrow cry alone,
“Who hath believed our report?”
All we like sheep have gone astray,
From Him we have our faces hid,
We each have turn’d to his own way,
And done the things that were forbid.
His faithful servants all day long,
Do to repentance us exhort,
Yet nightly raise the mournful song,
“Who hath believed our report?”
It was for us He was accused,
Sank under sorrows not His own,
Was buffeted, chastis’d, and bruis’d,
To raise us rebels to a throne.
The nails, the hammer, and the spear,
And reed, with which His head was smote,
All cry in the deaf sinner’s ear,
“Who hath believed our report?”
Yes! both the pulpit and the press,
The thunder of His power proclaim,
Commend His blood and righteousness,
And offer mercy in His name.
Yet some are always standing by,
Of holy things to make a sport,
And weeping preachers yet may cry,
“Who hath believed our report?”
Some have believed this report,—
To them He hath “His arm reveal’d;”
To Him their lives they now devote,
For “by His stripes their souls are heal’d!”
And on the last important day,
When all shall be to judgment brought,
Thrice happy those who then can say,
We have believed this report.
But woe to all ungodly men,
Who wonder how these things can be;
They’ll wonder more, and perish then,—
Too late they will their folly see.
For them, alas, no joys remain,
The Lord of life will cut them short;
And they shall weep and wish in vain,
They had believed our report!
[The end]
John Castillo's poem: Who Hath Believed Our Report?
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