THE PASTOR’S HEART

“I have a burden, Pastor, that I’d like to lay on you.”
I listened, though he never knew I had a burden, too.
I took a tearful look toward mine, then his came into view.
‘Twas plain to see my burden was the larger of the two.
I saw his load alongside mine, and though they both were real.
The yoke he bore was made of wood, and mine was made of steel.
To him I said, “Come unto me, I’ll gladly carry thine,”
Then whispered unto selfishness, “But who will carry mine?”
I softly laid my burden down to help him his to bear,
While knowing that my heavy load I’m not allowed to share.
I’ll help him with his burden, then regain mine after while,
When I will sigh and weep once more, while now I force a smile.
I felt the chains of bondage till a captive came to me,
He bade me help him break the bands, and aid him to be free.
I saw the fetters binding him, and felt a pity-pain,
For his were made of little rope, and mine of heavy chain.
I laid aside my heavy chains, so he my help could borrow.
I’ll help him free of bondage now, and think of mine tomorrow.
A doubter knocked at study door; I had an urge to groan,
“Why bring your pebble doubt to me, when mine is made of stone?”
I smiled at him and listened, while believing in my doubt.
I laid it down reluctantly and feigned a happy shout.
I sat alone in darkened room, and felt a shadow’s knife.
Another came to share with me some darkness in his life.
As I compared my night with his, his dark possessed a lack.
For his was just an evening shade, while mine was midnight black.
I slowly laid my night time down, to help him seek for light.
I’ll tread my dimming path-again, when I have made his bright.
A troubled soul came to my door, a problem to confide.
I had a problem, too, that day; ’twas hard for me to hide.
My problem was a mountain steep, and his was just a hill.
My problem was an ocean wide, and his a tiny rill.
Yet, ’tis my lot to fill his need, and put mine on the shelf.
For I must lay my heartache down, and hide it for myself.
He told me of a broken heart, while mine was breaking, too.
I told him of a mending God who maketh all things new.
He told me of his thirsty soul; I gave him living water.
He said he was a broken vase; I told him of the Potter.
Another came when I was sick to say he had the flu.
His fever was a hundred one, and mine, a hundred two.
Another came when I was faint, to say that he was weak.
Another came when I was dumb, to say he could not speak.
Another weeping seeker came, for me his tears to dry.
I went alone and wiped my eyes, then told him not to cry.
Another came when I was tired to say he needed rest.
I lifted him with weary arms, and tried to give him zest.
And now, ’tis late, and all have gone, each one to his abode.
So I must find my problems, and regain my heavy load.

Where is the burden I had borne? I had it while ago!
Where is the problem I must solve? I left it here, I know!
Where is the darkness I once knew? I now see only light!
The chains, the tears, the pains, the fears, are no where now in sight!
I cannot find my broken heart! Where is my fevered brow?
I have a song! The tears are gone! I cannot find them now!
My sickness now hath turned to health! And trust replaceth fright!
Assurance covers all my doubts! My darkness now is light!
I heard a Voice from Heaven say, “My child, ’tis always true:
When you take care of others’ needs, I will take care of you!”

(The original source of the above material is unknown.)

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