The Coming of the Master by L. D. Santé

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Aug 31, 1911

The Coming of the Master

By L. D. Santé

L. D. SANTÉ.

I LONG for the Saviour’s appearing, I watch, and I wait, and I pray; The signs tell the advent is nearing, And my hopes are as roses in May.

My faith reaches up from the mortal, Far swifter than eagles can fly, And I catch the white gleam of the portal That shineth in heaven’s fair sky.

There the saints, clad in heavenly splendor, Cast their crowns at the Saviour’s dear feet, With a love that is holy and tender, A rest that is endless and sweet; And they thrill with unspeakable gladness, Where the glory of God covers all, Where is never a shadow of sadness, And tears o’er the cheeks never fall,

And never is sickness or crying, And never a heartache or pain; No partings are there, and no dying, No mourning o’er hopes that are vain; But fashioned in wonderful brightness, They shall rise to the Eden above, Where the bosom for ay keeps its lightness, And the songs are evangels of love.

I wander through life as a stranger, I have grieved o’er earth’s sin and its scorn, I have toiled on the mountains of danger, In hope of a soon-coming morn. But those that in heaven would have freedom, Must water the seed with their tears; O, every soul hath its “Edom.” Before the fair Canaan appears!

Moline, Ill.