The “Angel of Mercy,” with calm, sweet face,
Came down on her errand of love and of grace,
And she paused to speak to the busy throng
Of a Saviour’s love as she passed along;
But my heart was sick when I heard the cry,
As the beautiful angel passed them by,
“We will choose the world, with its pleasures gay,
With its fame, and its riches,—go thy way.” Then she saw in her pathway an erring child,
Alone on the mountains, drear and wild,
And she sought in pity her heart to move,
By the wondrous tale of a Saviour’s love;
But the answer came with a reckless smile,
“Let me laugh and be gay for a little while;
I will heed thine entreaties, but not to-day.”
So she said to the angel, “Go thy way.” Then she paused to plead with a maiden fair,
“Choose not for thy portion earth’s sin and care,
For nothing but sorrow its joys can give;
While mercy is waiting, O look and live!”
But she turned on the angel her laughing eye,
“I’ll prepare for eternity by-and-by,
When my form is bent, and my locks are gray,
Till then,” said the maiden, “go thy way.” Still she speeds on her errand of love, and now
She has placed her hand on the student’s brow;
But he heeds her not, and with earnest look
He bends once more o’er his treasured book,
And these hollow words from his white lips came,
“Ambition! Ambition! The world,” and “Fame!”
“Oh! speak to me not of a Judgment day.”
And he said to the angel, “Go thy way.” Then the sorrowing messenger stood beside
The graceful form of a beauteous bride,
And the angel saw in her sparkling eye
Bright hopes of bliss in the by-and-by,
And she laid her hand on the fair, young head,
“Thy Saviour is waiting for thee,” she said.
But the world and its pleasures were bright and gay,
So she said to the angel, “Go thy way.” Then the angel saw, as she passed along,
A lost one—spurned from the heartless throng;
But the pitying angel sought to win
The wanderer back from the haunts of sin,
“Too late! too late!” was the sad reply;
“For womanly virtue has passed me by,
My heart is too hardened, I cannot pray,
And the world will not pardon me—go thy way.” The beautiful messenger paused beside
The palace of wealth, in its stately pride.
“O man of the world!” said the angel then,
“Go—give to the suffering sons of men;
The riches and honor that throng thy path
Shall profit thee not in the day of wrath,
Go labor for treasures that ne’er decay;”
But the rich man answered her, “Go thy way.” The miser sat by his hoarded pile,
And counted it o’er with a greedy smile,
For he worshiped the pieces of shining gold
That he grasped in his fingers blue and cold;
But the messenger whispered, “Thy gold will rust,
And thy hoarded treasures will turn to dust;”
But he brushed from his temple his thin locks gray,
And muttered impatiently, “Go thy way.” The pitying visitor paused beside
A grief-stricken mother whose babe had died,
And she murmured at God, for her brain was wild,
And her bosom yearned for her precious child;
But the angel whispered, “Thy God is just,
And thy babe shall rise from the mouldering dust;”
But methought, ’mid her moaning, I heard her say
To the pitying angel, “Go thy way.” Then the bright messenger kindly flew
To a gay saloon, with its reckless crew,
The foolish youth in his pride was there,
And the aged man with his silvery hair;
While the angel pleaded with love divine,
They filled their cups with the sparkling wine,
And she sadly wept as she heard them say,
“We will follow the multitude—go thy way.” The pleading messenger hasted then
Where wretches dealt in the souls of men,
Where human creatures were bought and sold
By their fellow-men, for a purse of gold;
And she cried in her anguish, “Almighty God
Will punish the land with the chastening rod,
And cruel oppressors in vain shall pray;”
But the answer came angrily, “Go thy way.” Soon the “Angel of Mercy,” with wing unfurled,
Shall take her flight to a better world,
And then will the sinner in anguish cry,
When the Spirit forever has passed him by,
“While mercy was pleading, I dwelt in mirth,
I have bartered my soul for the joys of earth.”
And the mighty Judge in his wrath shall say,
“Thou said’st to my Spirit, ‘Go thy way.’” LILLA D. AVERY.
Locke, Ingham Co., Mich., June 9, 1876.