Yearnings by D. T. Taylor

California Conference of Seventh-day Adventists · Oakland, Cal. · Jan 28, 1875

Yearnings.

By D. T. Taylor

The sad, still years flit by. The babe's sweet smile, The maid's rich bloom, the daring youth's proud mien, Manhood's calm brow, all pass away; and while We sit and weep, they move to the unseen. Whate'er of beauty, joy, or fame we love On earth, stays not but dies. And still we cling Madly and fondly to this world. Thou Christ above, Earth's better golden age when wilt thou bring?

All things look melancholy with the gloom Of Time's last hours. The very skies weep tears, Over a race that lives but for the tomb, And whose brief life is strangely filled with fears. The earth seems draped in woe, and with groans Most dismal rolls onward through the sky; The winds and mountains utter solemn moans, And for Christ's coming all things pine and sigh.

When will He come? The tedious mournful days Drag heavily along their leaden hours; The nights are full of weariness, and we gaze Upward to see his sign appear. The flowers Grow fewer, and the path is full of thorns That pierce our lame and bleeding feet; And snares and pitfalls fill the way. Forlorn This dreary night; O rest would be so sweet.

But hark! Behold! strange lights gleam out afar, Heaven's doors seem opening, and there is heard The sound of chariot wheels. The serene air Trembles with the trumpet's melody. Earth is stirred In all her unseen depths; the nations quail; Sun fades; moon pales; the Archangel's echoes ring; Shout ye ransomed! Cry to the celestial form, All hail! Rejoice! He cometh! Lo! it is the King—our King!

D. T. Taylor.