Born: 1838, Cork, Ire­land.

Died: Jan­u­a­ry 18, 1877, South­amp­ton, Eng­land.


Robinson was ed­u­cat­ed at Tri­ni­ty Col­lege, Dub­lin, and New Col­lege, St. John’s Wood, Lon­don.

He en­tered the Con­gre­ga­tion­al min­is­try and was co-pas­tor at York Street Cha­pel in Dub­lin with Dr. Ur­wick. He then be­came pas­tor at St. John’s Wood, Dud­ley, and at Un­ion Street, Bright­on.



The Disciple

O it is sweet here at Thy feet,
Sitting like children Thy wisdom to learn,
Watching that face perfect in grace,
Feeling our hearts in an ecstasy burn.

Earth with her eyes lofty and wise
Passes us by with a scorn in her looks;
We are but fools, hers are the schools,
Hers is the wisdom of sages and books.

O it is sweet here at Thy feet,
Drinking that wisdom which comes from above,
Seeing all night flee from Thy light,
Phantom philosophies vanish at Love.

Lo, it is dawn! darkness is gone!
How the land stretches in brightness away!
Still do men bear tapers with care,
Day is around, and they see not the day,

O it is sweet here at Thy feet,
O it is sweet, and is pitiful, too!
Were they but wise! had they but eyes
Only to see that Creation is new!

Now we are filled, now we are stilled,
Past is the fainting and hushed is the strife,
Truth has her sphere, Christ, in Thy tear,
Love is the ocean, a river is Life.

O it is sweet here at Thy feet—
Here at Thy feet, for Thy wisdom is Thou;
Master divine, are we not Thine?
Wilt Thou not ever be with us now?

George Wade Robinson
Loveland and Other Po­ems, 1873


Help Needed

If you can help with any of these it­ems, would you ?