THE RIVER OF DEATH by S. L. Maud Miles

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 1, 1880

THE RIVER OF DEATH.

By S. L. Maud Miles

THE river of death is dark and deep, And none come back from its shore; It hushes the song, and the echo sweet, In its restless, turbulent roar. A dark relentless foe is death; It hurries away from our side The dearest God gives—with a look and a breath, They sink in its loathsome tide.

They come not back to this world of ours, As the angels come and go— Their thoughts are perished with their breath; They know neither joy or woe. But not forever will the prince of death, Keep his captives still and bound; For the morning cometh when they shall awake To the trumpet's joyful sound.

Conqueror no longer! when He comes Whose voice can raise the dead— His power is o'er, when sleeping saints Shall leave their dusty bed. Then freed from the power of death and the grave, The dead shall live once more— Shall walk again on this beautiful earth, As it was in the days of yore.

We shall meet again the loved and lost, That death hid away from our sight; We shall walk together the golden streets Of that beautiful city of light. We shall gaze upon Him, we have learned to love More than all that earth could give; We shall hear that voice of magical power That hath bidden us look and live.

Aye, the river of death is dark and deep And none come back from its shore, But e'er long a voice will reach to its depths, And the dead will slumber no more. —S. L. Maud Miles.