Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 9

The Psalmist made his boast in G.o.d, and we may do the same; The word exhorts to cry aloud, and praise his holy name.

Should those here hold their peace, whom G.o.d has his own Spirit given, Where could he look for honor due, and whom make meet for Heaven?

Regardless of the world's cold frown, we would march boldly on, Nor right nor left would turn, but go where our dear Saviour's gone, There's mansions there, and Jesus will prepare his saints a place, Where they will never cease to sing of his redeeming grace.

Are we expecting to be there, and share each proffered bliss?

The Father's love is not in those who love a world like this.

Then tarry not in all the plain; seek high and holy ground, Lest in the balance when we're weighed, we should be wanting found.

"Brother, Live!"

When dark misfortune's tide is up, Its surges running high, If we have lost our hold on G.o.d, Where then for refuge fly?

Oppressed, desponding, near despair, Health, strength and courage fled, These cheering words heed, "_Brother, live!_"

And raise your sinking head.

Though anguish deep, and bitter grief Be felt and long be borne, Abide the test; seek no relief That's not from Heaven alone.

Deliverance must be found in G.o.d, A blessing to secure; There is encouragement for those Who trials well endure.

In tribulation's beaten path, The ancient prophets trod; It is the only way that brings The wanderer home to G.o.d.

Let patience have its perfect work, Be purified and tried; Be ready when the King shall come, To e'er with him abide.

Condense.

The article which now you think So perfect and complete, Would doubtless be, if half as long, For printing twice as meet.

Once and again your thoughts condense, Then what remains improve; For matter must be weighty now, The minds of men to move.

No preface does your piece demand, No introduction needs; Select the wheat, but cast aside The straw, and chaff, and weeds.

How many worse than wasted hours Are spent foul works to read, Fictions which poison heart and mind, And basest pa.s.sions feed.

Search for some richer gems than these, Ideas new and rare; Soon will you learn the good to save, The valueless to spare.

With heart and mind thus disciplined, And quickened every sense, Let these three rules your pen control-- Condense, condense, condense.

"The Bond of Peace."

When love unites the saints There'll be no sad complaints Against each other; No bitter root will spring, A wrong report to bring Against a brother.

Each will delight to see Sweet peace and harmony, And long for more; G.o.d's love the heart will fill, And selfish motives kill, As ne'er before.

In union there'll be strength, Through all the breadth and length Of this grand host; Armed for the battle-field, No point of truth they'll yield, Firm at their post.

And when the battle's o'er, They're safe forevermore, With Christ their King; Through him they gain their crown, And lay their weapons down, And victory sing.

Christian Submission.

The Lord is mine, his will my choice; I'm his to suffer or rejoice, While here on earth I stay.

I know in whom I have believed; He has my sacrifice received, And will direct my way.

Whate'er he calls me here to do, He'll give me grace and help me through; He'll lead and guide me home.

He's promised to be with me here, And said to me, "Be of good cheer, The world I've overcome."

Let friends deride, let scoffers rage, Let h.e.l.l against my soul engage; No one of them I fear.

My Lord has conquered all my foes, In vain they rage, or me oppose, While my Deliverer's near.

Myself, my all, to G.o.d I give, And to his glory would I live, From sin's dominion freed.

I'll trust him though he hides his face.

Sufficient for me is his grace, In every time of need.

He's coming, whom we have desired, In all his saints to be admired; Even so, Lord Jesus, come.

Come, in thine own appointed way; We'd wait in patience to that day, When thou shalt call us home.

Who is Without Fault?

Is there one here, who, e'er thus far, Has blameless been preserved?

Who never strayed, made one mistake, Or e'er from duty swerved?

There may have been no outward act To cause one pang of grief; But has there been no secret fault, No sin of unbelief?

Then judge not harshly; who can tell Thy brother's suffering now, That he has failed in any point, To pay the Lord his vow?

From secret faults, the Psalmist prayed, Dear Lord, oh! cleanse thou me, And from presumptuous sins keep back, Preserve and make me free.

Left to himself, how great his fall!

And he himself the guide.