Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 25

Then let us form the high resolve To make our lives sublime, And mark a clear and n.o.ble track Upon the sands of time, And bring fresh honors to the list Of men and heroes all, Whose power is felt from pole to pole-- The sons of Phillips' Hall.

I'm Coming Home Again.

The wheels of time roll ceaseless on, The moments glide away; The hours but tell us they are gone, Nor lingers long the day.

So that from friends, and home, away I shall not long remain, For soon the flying wings of time Will bear me home again.

I have a home--oh! blessed thought!-- Which oft I call to mind; Which oft a healing balm has brought, And left dull care behind.

From this dear home, though far away, I cannot long remain, The ties of friends.h.i.+p, sure and strong, Will bring me home again.

In fancy's vision oft I see Friends.h.i.+p's extended hand, And for a moment seem to be, One in your happy band; But recollection suffers not These visions to remain, And so to see you face to face, I'm coming home again.

The boisterous waves roll rough around My thin and slender bark; While clouds arise, and storms resound, And all is drear and dark.

But out upon the swelling tide I shall not long remain, For I'm coming into harbor-- I'm coming home again.

Charity.

There is a way more excellent, so traced the sacred pen, Than e'en to share the precious gifts which G.o.d vouchsafes to men; It is to draw for every act our motive from above, And make our whole of mortal life a holocaust of love.

For though the mind with all the wealth of human lore expand, Though e'en an angel's glowing words we hold at our command, If in each thought and word expressed, no charity abound, 'Twill but be like the tinkling bra.s.s, the cymbal's hollow sound.

And though all knowledge we possessed, all mysteries could prove, Had faith to bid the rugged mount to yonder sea remove, If charity dwell not within, the all-inspiring power, We are but cyphers in the scale, the beings of an hour.

And though our goods we freely give to meet the sufferer's need, And yield our bodies to the stake, the fiery flame to feed; If charity prompt not these acts, so fair to human sight, It profits nothing in His eyes who reads the heart aright.

For charity is but the name for every heavenly grace; With human weakness long she bears, to anger ne'er gives place; Her features fair with kindness glow, no envy stirs her breast, Nor e'er by boastful acts or words is inward pride expressed.

She ever seeketh others' good, regardless of her own; She thinks no evil, speaks no ill, by act, or look, or tone; Not in iniquity, but truth, doth she her comfort take, And bears, believes, endures, and hopes, all things, for Jesus' sake.

Hail, holy Charity! bright daughter of the skies!

An angel from the ruins of our once fair paradise, Still lingering with our fallen race to point our feet above, And show us what a Heaven will be, where all is wrought in love.

In the dark places of the earth thy footsteps may we trace, By fruitful fields and verdant plains where once were desert wastes.

The orphan rises up with joy thy coming steps to bless, And widows, smiling through their tears, their grateful thanks express.

To clothe the naked, feed the poor, bestowing joy for pain; To bring relief to those who long in suffering have lain; To cause the sad, despondent heart to sing aloud for joy-- These are thy works, sweet Charity, thy holy, blest employ.

We welcome thee, O Heavenly grace! be thou our constant guide; Let thy sweet spirit in our hearts forevermore abide.

Help its to scatter deeds of love in all the paths we tread; For blessing thus our fellow-men, we honor Christ our head.

Lines

On the death of William M. Smith.

Dark is the hour when Death prevails, And triumphs o'er the just-- A painful void within the breast, When dust goes back to dust; And solemn is the pall, the bier, That bears them from our presence here.

But there's a bright, a glorious hope, That scatters death's dark gloom; It cheers the saddened spirits up, It gilds the Christian's tomb; It brings the resurrection near, When those we love shall re-appear.

Then mourn we not as those whose hopes With fleeting life depart; For we have heard a voice from Heaven, To every stricken heart: Blest are the dead, forever blest, Who from henceforth in Jesus rest.

With kind regard the Lord beholds His saints when called to die; And precious in his holy sight Their sacred dust shall lie, Till all these storms of life are o'er, And they shall rise to die no more.

A few more days and we shall meet The loved, whose toil is o'er, And plant with joy our bounding feet On Canaan's radiant sh.o.r.e; Where, free from all earth's cares and fears, We'll part no more through endless years.

The New Year, 1871.

Why hail we thus each new-born year, With voice of joy and scenes of mirth?

What room for gay and festive cheer, While woe and darkness span the earth?

While sin and suffering, pain and death, still throw, Their baleful shadow over all below?

Earth trembles at the cannon's roar, War's murderous visage scours the plain; Its fairest spots are drenched with gore, Its fruitful fields are piled with slain.

And what are all these slow-revolving years, But funeral pageants of distress and tears?

Contagions spread their wings of pall, Fierce tempests rage with blasting breath, And earthquake throes, engulfing all, Make short and sure the way to death.

No peace, no safety, no enduring cheer, To him who builds his hopes and treasures here.

Yet glad we hail each New Year's morn; For from the great high throne of Heaven A royal fiat forth has gone, A glorious word to earth is given: Behold, says He who looks creation through, Where sin has marred my works, I make anew.

New earth to smile before his face, New heavens in crystal beauty dressed, New years to run a guiltless race, New joys for each immortal breast, New flowers upspringing from the sinless sod, New waters sparkling from the throne of G.o.d.

New bodies for these feeble forms, New life from e'en the moldering tomb, New skies unrent by raging storms, New beauty, new unfading bloom, New scenes the eternal era to begin, Of peace for war, of righteousness for sin.

Speed then away, O tardy years!

Fly quickly, hours that intervene!

Groaning we wait the time when tears Shall be but things that once have been.

Dawn, thou blest morn, so long in promise given, The glorious glad New Year of G.o.d and Heaven.

Almost to the Beautiful Land.