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The Time of Trouble

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Oct 28, 1915

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 92, No. 53.

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The Time of Trouble

By Arthur W. Spaulding

Arthur W. Spaulding
My God, it is the hour,— The hour of darkness that should come on all the world. Helpless, the souls of men like autumn leaves are swirled Before some dreadful power That sweeps the nations to the yawning maw of hell, With rage unstemmed, with hate no power can quell,— The devils’ whirlwind, and they ride it well.
Shall I, shall we, not pray? Around us, named Thy people, reel the drunken mob, Until the head grows dizzy, and the pulses throb. O, who dare fling the day Among the careless legions of the days gone by: “Eat, drink, be merry; for full soon we die”?— The wastrel’s cheer, and then his last despairing cry!
Suffer it not, O God! Shall scorn of duty and the love of pleasant sin Profane through us Thy sanctuary, till within Mournfully writ is “Ichabod”? Nay! In this closing hour of Thine atonement day Make us to bow our heads, and in contrition pray, “For Thine own glory, Lord, blot out our sins for aye.”
Not for our sakes ’be this! Thy name, O Lord, Thy throne, Thy glory, and Thy grace Are tested by our lives. Let me not face My Master with a traitor kiss, Fawning and feigning with a selfish crown in view. O, if my flaw-filled life be never fused anew, How shall I shame my King before His legions true!
O garden of the bitter cup! Within thy grief-bound walls we press our doubtful way, Willing in spirit, though the flesh forbid, to pray, To lift our Master up, Bearing with Him what angels know not how to bear. Help us, help us, O Christ, to agonize in prayer Throughout this hour of darkness that with Thee we share!