Voices of the Night by ARTHUR W. SPAULDING

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Apr 25, 1912

Voices of the Night

By ARTHUR W. SPAULDING

ARTHUR W. SPAULDING

It is very dark. This path I tread is very narrow, This path of duty that goes on and on. Out in the dark I hear the tinkling of sweet waters; The fragrance of strange flowers wafts in, is gone; And music, sprinkled from the velvet wings of evening, Perfumes and cools the harsh-caressing air; What hinders that I cease the never-ending journey, And seek repose, and make an end to care?

Be still, my child! The path you tread, in truth, is narrow, But on that path alone there shines a light. The tinkling waters run to deep and foul morasses: You only perish if you pierce the night.

But what! Shall I shrink cow'ring from the darkness' terrors? Shall I be frightened at a fancied dream? 'Tis true, this path alone with light is fully flooded, But in the dark are other lights agleam. Who knows but in some vale a little cottage nestles, Where smiling gardens open wide their charms, And there might I find refuge from the pilgrim's sorrow, And meet no more the pilgrim's dread alarms?

My child, it is a dream delusive you are dreaming; The lights you see are fleeting, false, and fell. The one true refuge from the griefs of duty's pathway Is found when you have trodden duty well.

If, then, I may not leave this narrow, trodden pathway, Nor heed the wooing of the perjured night, If weary eyes and staggering limbs must still press onward, And keep the path, and stay within the light, May I not see the end of duty, know its pleasure, Breathe balm that comes not from forbidden fields, Be strengthened for the stumbling and the beating bruises, And taste the nectar that stern duty yields?

Yes, yes, my child! Do thou but lift thy downcast glances, And see the glory where this pathway ends; And straightway all thy rue in foretaste sweet shall vanish, And easy be the pain thy Father sends.