“THE SPIRIT AND THE BRIDE SAY, COME.”
By R. C. Baker
A “STILL, small voice” is whispering in my breast,
The Spirit’s gentle breathing, soft and low;
This is the way, the straight and narrow path
That heavenward leads from this dark vale of woe. Come, for the flowery way leads down to death;
The crosses must be borne, self crucified;
Oh, come! and follow Him who for our sins,
His sinless head in anguish bowed, and died. Come, for the earth is hastening to its doom;
Fulfilling signs proclaim the advent near;
He who now pleads our cause in Heaven above,
Will soon for all his ransomed ones appear. The city’s open gates of shining pearl,
With a resistless charm, are whispering, “Come.”
O’ercome your sins, be saved, and enter in;
Henceforth, this blest abode shall be your home. Here, where the rainbow spans the great white throne
Of him whom all the pure in heart shall see;
Here, where the crystal fount unceasing flows,
Dispensing life and joy eternally; Here, where the tree of life its leaflets waves,
And golden fruit, to our enamored sense;
Where we may rest assured, those cherub bands
Will ne’er unsheath their swords to drive us hence. Here, at the feet of Him who died to save,
We cast our glittering crowns in rapture sweet;
Here, where the saints and prophets, long since dead,
A vast, unnumbered throng at last shall meet. Oh! for an angel’s hand those scenes to paint,
That mortal eyes by faith but dimly see!
Oh! for an angel’s tongue His praise to sing,
Who purchased such reward for worms like me! Oh! let us struggle on through life’s dark vale;
Fight the good fight of faith, and victors stand
Upon that crystal sea, whose glassy wave
Uprears the whole immortal, ransomed band. R. C. BAKER.
Mackford, Wis.