Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 2

Soon there will be no promise Of pardoning grace, now free.

Ere Jesus ceases pleading, We must get victory.

Soon with no mediator To help our ruined case, The filthy must be filthy, Beyond the reach of grace.

Baptism.

We fail not, when watching, our duty to know, While Jesus makes out all our pathway below.

When he bids be buried with him 'neath the wave, Let nought keep us back from the watery grave.

Go forward; these waters are ever the place, Where Jesus is found with his presence to grace; While angels make each of its subjects their care, And the Spirit of G.o.d sheds its blessedness there.

Oh, blest inst.i.tution! the Lord owns it still, And moves on his people his word to fulfill; In newness of life will he help to arise, While they humbly press on toward the mark for the prize.

How heavenly the sight of an ordinance like this; The pledge, it would seem, of perpetual bliss: G.o.d honored below, while his people rejoice, Making known to the world, they obey him from choice.

We'll follow the footsteps of Jesus, our King, Till we the glad songs of deliverance sing.

We'll exalt him while here, we will love and adore, And with the redeemed sound his praise evermore.

Despair of the Lost.

Of our strength we are shorn by indulgence in sin; Where Jesus has reigned, now there's no room within; A host of his murderers dwell in the heart; Rejected, though grieved, he's obliged to depart.

As he goes who can know he will ever return?

That the blessing is lost we may soon have to learn, With a wail of despair, a lamentable cry, We may soon see ourselves forever pa.s.sed by.

Too late! oh, too late! now my soul must be lost; Though redemption was offered at infinite cost; Though help has been laid on one mighty to save; To self and the world I the preference gave.

Could the hope of salvation be given once more, Would we not turn our backs on our Lord, as before?

Would not the same spirit still bear the same fruit?

And the Lord still to us our transgressions impute?

Oh! poor fallen man, rus.h.i.+ng on to despair, With high hopes all anch.o.r.ed in earth's fatal snare, To be swept away soon, with the refuge of lies, While the soul in deep anguish the second death dies.

Depart from Sin.

Could the deluded votaries Of fas.h.i.+on and of song, But see their danger, they would cry, We've ventured here too long.

Yes, ventured o'er a precipice, Held by a brittle thread, While "fiery billows roll beneath"

The slippery paths we tread.

We've ventured to reject the call, In love and pity given, To flee sin's awful destiny, And seek a home in Heaven.

Could tears prevail, could pity move, You would not longer stand, Exposed by every das.h.i.+ng wave In yon broad gulf to land.

But tears and pity cannot save, Nor for one sin atone, Redemption's purchased with the blood Of Jesus Christ alone.

The debt is paid; salvation's free, Though Jesus' life it cost, And all who come to him he'll save; Then why should you be lost?

Oh! be entreated to forsake The road that leads to h.e.l.l, And thus be fitted for the place Where saints and angels dwell.

Old, but Young.

Infirmities of age have not As yet made me their prey; In social life I sometimes feel As one still young and gay.

My spirits buoyant, hopeful, free, No cloud to intervene, Till I'm a wonder to myself, And ask what this can mean.

Is there a dark and heavy cloud, Now gathering out of sight, To come o'er this my cheerful path, And turn it into night?

Well, be it so; I'll now enjoy Life's blessings while I may, And meet its changes as they come, The footsteps of decay.

At seventy-six we might expect Our life-lights to grow dim, The slow-paced step and wasted form, Though once erect and trim.

'Tis nature's course; time's withering blight Will come on all below.

Be ready then for any change Time bids us undergo.

Then when this earth is made anew All clothed in living green, Where blight, decay, and care-worn brows Are never to be seen,

We all shall bloom immortal, fair, In Eden beauty dressed, To share all Heaven's eternal joys, And be forever blessed.

Pa.s.sing the Gate.

Lines on leaving the house of a dear friend where I had pleasantly spent several weeks.

Down deep in the heart is a fountain of tears, Though seldom it flows to the eye; 'Tis not that I have not true interest and love, That I say not the sad words, Good bye.

The gate must be opened, and opened for me, For me to go out of the place, Where I have enjoyed the best bounties of earth, Where in love face has answered to face.

As I pa.s.sed through the gate, language fails to express My deep-felt emotions of heart; 'Twas leaving a home where was freedom and rest; And who else can such favors impart?