p. 6 | The Tomb's Defense by C. M. SNOW

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 3, 1914

The Tomb's Defense

By C. M. SNOW

C. M. SNOW

It is so lonely in the tomb,— The silent tomb, where thoughts of men Are turned from vain or glorious things Back to material earth again,— So lonely there!

It is so dreary in the tomb,— The cold, white tomb of chiseled stones, Where beauty fades, and flesh decays, And earthworms burrow in our bones,— So dreary there!

It is so silent in the tomb,— The chilly tomb, where shout of crowd Nor words of love can ever pierce The enmuffling foldings of the shroud,— So still, so silent there!

O, 'tis a dreadful place, the tomb— Where man lies down to wake no more To life, nor think, nor love, nor move! What wonder that we dread the door That opes the dreadful tomb?

Yea, 'tis a fearsome place, the tomb— Where man must cease from all he is, From all he would be, and pass out Into the dark, black nothingness Of night — eternal tomb!

Why art thou here to plague the race, Thou cruel, dark, and silent tomb? Why need we thee to crush our hope And fold us in thy shroud of gloom? Speak, Tomb, and tell us why.

Why dost thou punish us, bleak Tomb, For being in the realm where thou Dost rule, where thou dost sit as judge, As jury, jailer? Tell us now The purpose of thy sway, O Tomb.

We came not hither by design Of our conceiving; could not stay The plan or power by which we are: Why dost thou quench our little day As we were trespassers, O Tomb?

Could we have had the choice, and known The fearful penalty of life, We had not chosen to be born— We had not faced this world of strife To be but food for thee, O Tomb.

Thou hast no features that we love; Thy visage is a fearsome sight To freeze the marrow in our bones And conjure specters in the night. O answer us, thou ghostly Tomb!

THE TOMB:

Thy queries fret thee, child of earth, And turn thy visage ashy pale. Cease; I will answer thee, and then Thou mayest again my cause assail; But I will tell thee why.

I am not executioner, I am not judge, of thee; but I Thy jailer am alone to keep What man did forfeit to a lie— I keep that—I, the tomb.

And yet 'tis not for aye I hold A chattel mortgage on thy bones: I must relinquish claim when He Shall come whose blood for thee atones; Then must I ope my gates for thee. Yea, I shall fling them wide for thee, And gladly so. If thou hast been A child of faith,—if thou art his By gift,—then shalt thou live again. I cannot hold such when he comes.

I know 'tis drear in my embrace; I have nor warmth nor life to give; The fault is not mine own, but his Who chose the wrong. It could not live, So ye die with it—so the tomb.

And were it not for Him who came Unbidden to my cold embrace, Thou hadst been always mine, and thou In all the universe no place Had found except the eternal tomb.

Then had thy lot been cause for grief Un'suaged by hope—a dead, dark pall Pressed down upon a world of woe And tears and blood—and that were all.

There is an exit from the tomb.

Thy Father is not joyed to see The bloom of life and health decay, The blossoms wither on the cheek, Thy life, thy loved ones, pass away: He hath no joy in such as this.

It hurts his heart, yea, more than thine, When Death with cruel hand strikes down The object of thy love and his; He shares with thee the hateful frown Of him whose kingdom is the tomb.

I can but hold the dross; the pure Is his whose blood has purchased life For those who love the pure and true, Who look to him, and shun the strife And sin of earth—whose goal I am.

When he shall come and I shall ope My portals at his word, the dead Who owned his purchase and his right Come forth to life. Its silver thread His hand has welded through the tomb.

Then lay thee down; for so thou must When Death shall call for thee; but know Thy case is safe; for he who burst My brazen bars did conquering go The way he leads thee—through the tomb.

REJOINDER:

I thank thee, then, O Tomb, for this thy word Of consolation to a burdened breast. The clouds of gloom are parting even now, And through thy cold but shattered gates I see The glorious promise of a life beyond.

Yea, we shall live again; his love has made The shroud a chrysalis where folded lie The mighty pinions of a living hope. Though earth consume, or one great furnace be, Still are they safe, O Christ, who trust in thee.