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The Road to Honor

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 20, 1908

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 85, No. 8.

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The Road to Honor

By ELLA M. ROBINSON

ELLA M. ROBINSON
The banquet hall was silent, and the revelers gone. The prince his chamber sought, and, in the solitude, Gazed out into the chilly blackness of the night, And fondly wished the glimmer of the coming morn— Wished he might see but one fond token of the morn.
The elements were raging wild and fierce without; The Storm Wind and the Torrent sang their mournful dirge; Yet deeper far the midnight in that prince's soul, And fiercer there the storm of anxious fear and doubt— Aye, darker, deeper, wilder, than all storms without.
“O Life! how empty thou of all that men call joy! Thou heldest yesterday the apple temptingly; To-day its sweetness turns to ashes on our lips; To-morrow memory’s core remains but to annoy;— Pray, hast thou aught of gold but turns to base alloy?”
“O, why was man created but for one short day Of disappointments sore? Or can there be beyond A bright, eternal future, full of peace and joy?” Then through the rifted cloud, stole one lone, feeble ray: It was the morning star, the harbinger of day.
It pierced the gloom around, as tenderly it shone, A star of hope to light one dark and lonely soul. “O Maker and Upholder of yon glorious orbs, Thy plan is broad enough for all; thy power I own; O, grant me, holy Lord, a place near to thy throne.”
He slept, and in his dream a shining one stood by, Who spoke, a holy radiance beaming from his brow: “O prince, thy prayer is heard. The great God loveth him Who is of humble heart. The Lofty One and High Doth seek the contrite soul, and to the meek draws nigh.
“O, humble now thyself, and I will write thy name Upon this glorious page! Yet through eternity Thou shalt be lowliest of all the ransomed ones; But there is room for thee if thou dost not seek fame. O, speak the word alone, and I will write thy name!”
With scorn the prince replied, “Thy humble blessings keep; I choose the robe and crown, though but for life’s few years; For heaven would be hell stripped of my majesty. Not service, but a crown of glory do I seek.” The angel turned, and wept such tears as angels weep.
But still the prince dreamed on, and there before his view, He saw the Saviour bear his cross toward Calvary, And while rude soldiers pierced those precious hands and feet, The sufferer prayed, “Forgive, they know not what they do.” He heard the cry, “‘Tis done.” A voice said, “For you— “For you he bore the cross and died a death of shame.”
The prince awoke. ’Twas morn, and in that gilded room, He bent the humble knee, and breathed a contrite prayer: “I care naught for this world, its glory, honor, fame, If only thou wilt hear me for his precious name. “Thy power, how great! but O, how wonderful thy love! O, grant me, Lord, a share of thy abounding store, That I may know the joy of humble service here, And worthy be to fill a lowly place above! O, may I see, and know, and serve the One I love!”
Again we see the prince; his hair is silvery white. How bent! How slow his steps! A simple robe he wears. His wealth has gone to bless the peasants round his door; Another bears his crown; his brow wears heaven’s pure light; And by a humble cot he kneels to pray at night.
He sleeps, and in his dream again he seems to see The messenger divine, who whispers, bending low, “Thy Heavenly Father knows thy humble work of love; And, hark! he hath prepared an honored place for thee Among the ransomed ones; for thou shalt ever be, “Through all eternity, near to the Blessed One Whom all high heaven adore; and he shall teach thee more Of his eternal power, and boundless love divine; For thou shalt view each star, and go from sun to sun With Jesus as thy guide,”—thus spake the shining one.
Sanitarium, Cal.