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ALMOST HOME

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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 6, 1868

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 32, No. 3.

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ALMOST HOME.

By N. J. Lucas

GLORY be to God, we are almost home! Earth's long night of weeping is most over. Soon, if faithful, we shall hear the welcome words from the lips of Jesus, “Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. A few more aches and pains of this mortal life; a few more death-bed scenes; a few more tears, and we shall enter the heavenly rest. Oh! how we sometimes long for the Eden-land, the earth made new. I am weary of the sin and wickedness of this world. I long for the world to come, where nothing can mar our perfect peace. It is true there is much that seems lovely here, but it is transitory. Here we see decay stamped upon almost everything. Here the hand of disease pales the cheek, the eye grows dim, and like the flowers, we wither, droop, and die. But thank God, when we are made immortal no disease can ever prey upon our frames; neither will there be any more death.
“Here disease invades our frames, We wither, droop, and die, But there eternal youth shall bloom, And bright will beam each eye.”
Oh! I long for the immortal life where no one will say, I am sick. I long to behold the dear ones that now sleep in death, and clasp them in immortal arms, nevermore to part. It is but a little while ere the voice of the Archangel and the trump of God will call the sleepers forth from their graves. “Marvel not at this, for the hour is coming in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good unto the resurrection of life, and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of damnation.” Oh! what a joyful day that will be to God's dear children; but a sad one to them that know not God. Lord, help us to endure to the end like good soldiers of the cross, that we may be saved, is my prayer.
“All hail the morn of glory nigh, The pilgrim longs to see; That dries the tears from every eye, Creation's jubilee.”
N. J. LUCAS.