Untitled article by H. F. Phelps

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

FromReview and Herald, Vol. XXXI, No. 10

COME LORD JESUS, COME QUICKLY.

By H. F. Phelps

Yea, come. We long for thee. We are weary of waiting. Long years have we looked for thy return. Why dost thou tarry so long. The cup of the wicked is fast filling up. Iniquity abounds. The love of many is waxing cold. So long hast thou now tarried, that few believe thou wilt return. Every thing seems to demand thy return. Old earth seems to heave from her very center. Nature is decaying, waxing old. She feels the weakness of old age. Her pulse beats feebly. Her life blood is ebbing away. And with louder voice, earth and nature combine in calling for thy return, to robe her in her Eden beauty.

The curse is wearing heavily. Every thing feels it more and more. Both man and beast must soon sink into decay, unless thou dost come to restore. Man, made in the image of God, has so long felt the effects of the curse that he is fast dwindling away. We are weary of this state of things. Everything has decay written upon it. Passing away, everywhere. Mortality is indelibly stamped upon every thing, both animate and inanimate.

I am tired of earth in its present state. I long for thy return. Come and change me to immortality. Come and change earth to a beautiful Eden. Come burst the silent tomb. Awake the silent dead. Call forth thy sleeping saints. We long to meet our loved ones. Oh! joy will fill our hearts then! We shall shout praises to thy name. Glad day, roll on! Glad meeting, haste thee! Come Lord, come quickly. Thy persecuted ones cry, Come. The tried and tempted say, Come. "The weary pilgrim sighs, O! come." All the church join in the united cry, Come quickly.

Thou wilt come, full soon enough for me to get ready. I turn my eyes within myself. Am I ready? Nay, verily! I am still a slave to wicked passions. I am full of sin and uncleanness. In mercy thou art staying away. Thou art giving me time to get ready. Help me to improve upon it. May I not slight the offers of mercy. That morning will soon come. I have little time to get ready. O my soul, rouse thyself! make an effort! Shake off this lethargy! Why sleepest thou? Thou art upon enchanted ground. Satan is intent upon thy destruction. Awake! or thou art lost, and lost forever!

Jesus, help me. I will try to awake. I cannot alone. I can almost feel death's stupor upon me. My strength is weakness. My efforts are vain. I can do nothing alone. I cast myself at thy feet. If I perish it must be clinging to thee.

May the Lord help me to get ready.

H. F. PHELPS.