p. 1 | Untitled article by Vesta N. Cudworth

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, February 18, 1868

FromReview and Herald, Vol. XXXI, No. 10

SING TO ME.

By Vesta N. Cudworth

Air, “He died in California.”

Sing to me, for I am weary, While my vision daily scans, By revelation, shadows dreary, Creeping o’er earth’s brightest lands: Let it be a song of pity, Angel music, soft and low, And its breath of love so near me, It may sweep my throbbing brow.

Sing a dirge for earth: bemoaning Her bright gems grown dim and rare; Trees of righteousness once blooming, Stretch their branches cold and bare. Scarcely one redeeming feature Marks this Mercy-deluged age; Prayers and Bibles sink her deeper, While she writes her darkest page.

Jesus save! “the hour of trouble,” Circles ’round thy “remnant flock;” Earthly peace is but a bubble, Broken by the slightest shock; Sacred bonds are lightly broken; Perjured priests at every post; Trust betrayed; no hopeful token Lingers ’round this bankrupt host.

Sing to me; the vision brightens, Yonder is a starry shore; One glad smile that land enlightens, Where the gathered weep no more. Far beyond this night of sadness, And these scenes of mortal gloom, Man shall walk in native gladness, Earth shall smile in Eden bloom.

VESTA N. CUDWORTH.

Springfield, Mass.