Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 3

Not that I was homeless; another dear place Was all ready and waiting me, where Again I should mingle with children and friends; But oh! there's life's burden and care.

'Tis not that I'd shun them, and useless remain, That I felt thus while pa.s.sing the gate; But feelings which beckon to higher results, Thoughts I may not attempt to relate.

When fortune's wheel turns, will the gate opened be, Be opened for me to come through?

Shall I find the same friends and the dear quiet room, And my former engagements pursue?

To Him who controls all the myriad worlds, With Him would I leave each event; I would move in his order, and walk in his light, And know that my time is well spent.

Then whether I ever that gate pa.s.s, or not, Those loved ones again ever see, The gates of the City will open for all Who its glories and beauties would see.

Trust all to G.o.d.

We wait on G.o.d, our strength renewed, Our love of self and pride subdued, We then can cruel slander bear, Nor ask why we these sufferings share.

We may exalted be by men, Be censured and condemned; what then?

Our worth is in the Lord alone, To whom our thoughts and acts are known.

That I am G.o.d, know and be still, Though wrongfully you're suffering ill.

How many sins committed where No eye has seen, yet still I spare.

Be humble, meek, and low of heart, Nor from my holy law depart.

Thus will your strength be oft renewed, And you with holy zeal imbued.

In that dread day you then can stand, Where rocks are rent, and solid land And mountains shake, and cities fall; I'll be your strength, your G.o.d, your all.

From earth's dread ruins you'll be caught, To G.o.d's celestial city brought, Robed in a pure and spotless dress, The robe of Christ's own righteousness.

Then every stain will be erased From reputations now defaced; And where was anguish, grief and tears, Now smiles and bliss and joy appears.

To be forever with the Lord, To share the infinite reward, To sit with him upon his throne, To see and know as we are known.

In everlasting songs divine, In sweetest union all will join.

Who can describe the bliss there'll be, When blessed with immortality?

The Vanity of Earth.

Sickness prostrates; helpless sufferer, Who can stem the sorrowing tide?

Oh! how vain, when death approacheth, Earthly pleasures, wealth and pride.

Though your name may be ill.u.s.trious, Handed down through ages yet, Worldly honor and distinction, We shall all ere long forget.

Weeping friends may stand around you, Flattering prospects urge your stay; But compelled by the destroyer, To be launched from earth away.

Past reflections, oh! how painful, If not answered life's great end; Time all spent in vain delusion, Now no hope, no G.o.d, no friend.

Who can paint the bitter anguish, Felt at such a time as this; Soon to leave those cherished idols, Purchased with unending bliss.

Though we gain the world, what profit, If we lose our souls at last?

Buy the gold, the s.h.i.+ning raiment, Ere the day of grace is past.

Dying Words.

There was one who to me was most lovely and dear; I looked, and that loved one I saw disappear; My dear, only daughter, who in life's early years, Has gone to the grave, and has left me in tears.

The words of her parting, were, Jesus is mine; He'll save, and I shall in his own likeness s.h.i.+ne.

To G.o.d be all glory; Heaven's opened to me; I shall rise with the saints, and immortal shall be.

My brothers, be wise and obey Heaven's laws; Seek the Saviour to please and to honor his cause; Rest not till you know all your sins are forgiven, Oh! fail not, my brothers, to meet me in Heaven.

My mother, be ready to meet me that day, Nor mourn that here with you no longer I stay.

Prepare for the trouble that soon is to come-- Who then will enjoy his own loved quiet home?

I die in the Lord, from my labors to rest With the dead, of whom it is said, "They are blest."

For me bid farewell to the loved and the true, May we meet where is heard no mournful adieu.

My mother, I'm dying, but Jesus is here; With him I have nothing of evil to fear.

Thus peaceful she died, but still lingered the trace Of the image divine on her cold pallid face.

In the lone, quiet tomb where she's longed to repose, She rests from life's cares, from its "burden of woes,"

Beside her loved father, to memory dear-- O'er the graves of these loved, I withhold not the tear.

The Slave of Appet.i.te.

What stings of conscience men will bear, Their tastes to gratify; Resolve and re-resolve, and still Themselves cannot deny.

They say, "I'd give a thousand worlds Could I the victory gain."

Your cause is just, to conquer here, And all your rights maintain.

"What use," you ask, "to say I will, And almost know I shan't; I've tried, and tried, and tried again, To quit, but oh! I can't."

Well, be it so; your course pursue, But what will be the end?

Your conscience soon will be so seared, You'll want no other friend.