p. 166 | THE SACRIFICE by L. D. Santee

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 22, 1879

THE SACRIFICE.

By L. D. Santee

I thought of all my heart held sweetest, dearest, The triumph of success, the world's renown, But even when the prize had seemed the nearest, God's word commanded, Lay the chalice down.

A name to live through time in earthly glory— Such was my spirit's wish, my soul's desire. A name to minstrels dear in song and story, A soul ambitious, and a heart of fire.

I reached to pluck the fruitage of ambition, The fruit forbidden on ambition's tree; But from the Saviour came the admonition, Deny thyself, cross-bearing, follow me.

I heard sweet birds in leafy bowers singing, The wind's sad whispers, in the groves of pine; I saw rich grapes in purple clusters clinging To slender tendrils on the purple vine.

I saw the herds through vernal pastures straying, The flowery meads, the waving fields of green, While over all, the glorious sunlight playing, Seemed as a type of coming things unseen.

But brightest sunshine soon must end in shadows, And darkness soon will close the fairest day, And drifting snows be piled above the meadows, While wintry winds howl through the twilight gray.

Through leafy bowers where breezes murmur sweetest, 'Ere long will fall the drear November rain, The joyous hours are doomed to be the fleetest, And laughing voices sometimes moan in pain.

Soon will be past for aye the changing seasons, The noiseless surge of time's swift flowing stream, The lust of power, the deepening plots of treason; And all the aims of this life's fevered dream.

Yet, day by day, the wave of pain is swelling, That rises from the worn earth's troubled breast, Up to the heavens by some unseen impelling, Like some great troubled heart that cannot rest.

Here, summer heat, and chilling, wintry breezes; But just ahead life's portal fair we see. The sacrifice that I have made for Jesus, Is naught to what the Saviour's done for me.

Let other hands, then, reach for earthly glory, And other hearts surround ambition's shrine, But let the love of Jesus be my story, And all his ministry of love be mine.

But just before, I see the city golden, The tree of life, the crown, the jasper sea, Our wanderings done, in Jesus' arms enfolden We'll rest in joy and peace, dear Lord, with thee.

L. D. SANTEE.

Ward, Wilson Co., Kan.