The night was dark, the desert drear,
And Jacob’s heart was sad with fear.
He laid his staff upon the ground;
A stone he for his pillow found;
And jaded, sorrowful, oppressed,
He seeks his aching limbs to rest;
He counts himself of all bereft —
None near to shield, or cheer him, left;
A stranger, homeless and forlorn;
Through his own fault so rudely torn
From all he’d loved from childhood’s morn.
He sleeps at last — forlorn, alone,
His aching head upon the stone;
When lo in visions of the night
What heavenly glories meet his sight!
From the cold earth on which he lies,
A ladder reaches to the skies.
The upward path to heaven above;
The downward of Incarnate love;
And lo! above it stands the Lord,
By all those angel hosts adored,
Whose gracious voice, in accents clear,
Thus spoke to Jacob’s ravished ear:
Though now alone, cast out, distressed,
More than the dust thy seed shall be;
To north and south, to east and west
Shall spread thy countless progeny;
Lo! I am with thee; I will keep
Thee as the apple of Mine eye:
My loving care shall never sleep;
I will thy every want supply.
Wisdom and mercy — all engage
His head to shield, His woes assuage;
To comfort, to protect and bless
His journeys through the wilderness:
Whene’er he leans on pilgrim’s rod,
Jacob may well trust Jacob’s God.
J. G. Deck (adapted from a lengthy poem)