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The Resurrection

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · May 29, 1913

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 90, No. 22.

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The Resurrection

By L. D. SANTEE

L. D. SANTEE
MANY are sleeping whose years have been few, Resting in peace 'neath the daisies and dew, Stricken in childhood, in darkness they lie Waiting the trump that shall sound from the sky, Waiting the time when the Saviour in love Opens their prison, and calls them above. Lips unre plying shall burst into song, Life shall be given them, blissful and long.
Many who've perished by battle and sword Are waiting in silence the call of the Lord; Sleeping in valleys that smile in the sun, Calmly they rest, with their life-journey done; Lying on shores where the angry waves sweep, The thunder of ocean disturbs not their sleep; Resting on hillsides, afar and alone, Waiting the call from the King on his throne.
Hands that were palsied, and heads that were gray, Sank to their rest at the dying of day,— Sank to the silence, so long and so deep, Where none of the sleepers e'er waken to weep, Passed from a world that shall know them no more, Calmly they're waiting for heaven's bright shore; Resting in peace till the trumpet shall sound, Then waking to life from their couch in the ground.
Heads that were heavy, and hands that were worn, Feet that the thorns of the journey had torn, Eyes that were sunken and heavy with tears, Closed in their darkness, till Jesus appears. Infant and sire are alike in the dust, Waiting the call that shall waken the just, Waiting the trumpet that sounds from the skies Bidding the righteous to glory arise.
Moline, Ill.