THE BORDER LAND by L. N. R.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 16, 1872

THE BORDER LAND.

By L. N. R.

These lines were sent by a lady to a friend who wrote frequently to know where she had been for several months, that she had not written to her. She had been to the gates of the grave, in a long and severe illness.

I have been to a land, a Border Land, Where there was but a strange, dim light; Where shadows and dreams, in a spectral band, Seemed real to the aching sight. I scarce bethought me how there I came, Or if thence I should pass again; Its morning and night were marked by the flight Or coming, of woe and pain.

But I saw from this land, this Border Land, With its mountain ridges hoar, That they looked across to a wondrous strand,— A bright and unearthly shore. Then I turned me to Him, “the Crucified,” In most humble faith and prayer, Who had ransomed with blood my sinful soul, For I thought He would call me there.

Yet nay, for awhile in the Border Land, He bade me in patience stay, And gather rich fruits, with a trembling hand, Whilst He chased its glooms away; He had led me amid those shadows dim, And showed that bright world so near, To teach me that earnest trust in Him Is “the one thing needful” here.

And so from the land, the Border Land, I have turned me to earth once more; But earth and its works were such trifles, scanned By the light of that radiant shore. And oh! should they ever possess me again Too deeply, in heart and hand, I must think how empty they seem’d and vain, From the heights of the Border Land.

The Border Land had depths and vales, Where sorrow for sin was known; Where small seemed great, as weighed in scales, Held by God’s hand alone. ’Twas a land where earthly pride was naught, Where the poor were brought to mind, With their scanty bed, their friendless cot, And their bread, so hard to find.

But little I heard in the Border Land, Of all that passed below; The once loud voices of human life To the deafened ear were low. I was deaf to the clang of its trumpet call, And alike to its gibe or its sneer; Its riches were dust, and the loss of all Would then scarce have cost a tear.

I met with a Friend in this Border Land. Whose teachings can come with power To the blinded eye and the deafened ear, In affliction’s loneliest hour. “Times of refreshing” to the soul, In languor, oft He brings, Prepares it then to meditate On high and glorious things.

Oh! Holy Ghost! too often grieved In health and earthly haste, I bless those slow and silent hours Which seemed to run to waste. I would not but have passed those “depths,” And such communion known, As can be held in the Border Land With Thee, and Thee alone.

I have been to a land, a Border Land! May oblivion never roll O’er the mighty lessons which there and then Have been graven on my soul! I have trodden a path I did not know, Safe in my Saviour’s hand: I can trust Him for all the future, now I have been to the Border Land. —L. N. R.