A LETTER TO THE “SIGNS.”
By Parrie L. H. Roberson
BY PARRIE L. H. ROBERSON. My dear old friend, SIGNS OF THE TIMES,
Fair native of the Golden West,
Some words to you, in simple rhymes,
I write; I’ll try to do my best. I dearly love your honest face;
For you have true and faithful been.
Surely yours is a worthy race,
Your mission is to save from sin. Your mind is broad, your heart is kind,
And for the gentile and the Jew
You free salvation seek to find
Thro’ Christ, the Lord and Saviour true. I look and long for you, because
When you are here to visit me,
You talk of God, and of his laws,
The end is near, the Gospel free. You newly tell the story old,
And show me charms, unseen before;
The law of God you frame in gold,
So it exceeds earth’s richest lore. You tell of wars of long ago,
You say the path the saints once trod
Was made with Christian blood to flow,
But still they kept their faith in God. You tell me of approaching strife
The Sunday laws will bring about;
You say the atmosphere is rife
With cruel tyrants’ lusty shout. You say behind the prison bars
Some for their faith are suffering pain,
Yet imprisonment never jars
Their faith, tho doomed to ball and chain. In no uncertain tones you tell
Of danger which we soon must greet,
And of the foe you’ve warned me well
Who watches for unwary feet. I know that many friends you have,
I know that many write to you;
But words of thanks, from first to last,
There seem to be but very few. And even I forgot to speak
A kindly word of thanks to you,
For light you bring from week to week;
I find your words are always true. And now accept these words, I pray,
Of thanks and invitation kind:
You’re welcome; come again, I say;
Place in my house you’ll ever find.