The Stundist in Siberian Exile AND OTHER POEMS, William Fetler, 1922

ove divine— I am the branch, Thou art the vine ; The sap of Thy Spirit doth flow through my soul, And Thou hast become my all in all. I worked in the kitchen and had no rest. But now at Thy feet I have found the best ! My heart turns away from the voices outside. All that I crave is the voice of my Guide. Oh, sweet communion I Oh, hours of bliss ! My Beloved is mine and I am His I Sanctified, now, the rest of my days. Filled with His Spirit, I’ll sing His praise I March 27, 1919. “ THE CORN OF WHEAT MUST DIE ” 43 “ THE CORN OF WHEAT MUST DIE ” John xii. 24. The corn of wheat must fall into the ground, The corn of wheat must die. If not, for ever it remains alone— The corn of wheat am I ! What shall I choose ? Plans that are all my own ? My worthless self, its little short-lived day ? Shall I exist to satisfy my mind ? For what am I, left to myself, I pray ?— Flesh born of flesh, earth taken from the earth. But low, debased through sin’s corrupting breath ! Whatever wish springs up within my heart Is foul and base ; my very life is death. They speak of nobler efforts for mankind— That is, for me, and others such as I; But has man’s nature changed ? This flesh we wear— Does it become more holy as we try ? No ! flesh is flesh, the seat of lust and pride. Spiritual it does not, cannot, turn ; In every point that I may yield to it Comes loss to nobler nature in return. 44 “ THE CORN OF WHEAT MUST DIE ” Then let me die with Christ upon His Cross ! Then let me rise with Him on Easter Day ! And to this body as a dwelling-place Let now His Spirit come, in me to stay. Christ lives in me ! My wretchedness is gone. His Spirit’s law has set me free from sin ; The earthly cravings now are neutralized Since Christ the risen One has entered in. Yes, I am dead ! Not by my efforts hard. But simply trusting that He died for me. If One has died for all, then all are dead in Him, And all believing ones are risen just as He. This is the Spirit’s fruitful harvest-field— Eternal joy for moments few that pained . . . Now comes much fruit ; now streams of blessing flow, The risen life is Paradise regained ! September 6, 1918. REDEMPTION 45 REDEMPTION I was created by my God a king, But through my fall I have become a slave ; In angels' choir I had learned to sing, But missed the mark and sunk in silent grave. And now I, who was once so pure and brave. Have turned a coward, poisoned by death's sting. I did not care for God's preventive " No ! " I reached my hand to taste forbidden fruit— And so I changed my innocence for woe, Health was displaced by foul disease's root. The nightingale became a tortoise mute, And Eden turned to desert long ago. Then came He, full of pity and of grace, He gathered all the thorns upon His brow ; With bitter blood-sweat on His careworn face He crossed my desert with His Calvary's plough He worked so h