THE JUDGMENT by William Brickey

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 6, 1901

THE JUDGMENT.

By William Brickey

WILLIAM BRICKEY.

(Kimball, Minn.)

I HAD a solemn dream one night, I never shall forget; I saw the Judgment-seat of Christ; its terrors haunt me yet. Ten thousand times ten thousand angels stood by with folded wings, To execute the mandates of the mighty King of kings. The ponderous books were opened wide; the faithful angels stood And witnessed to each character, the evil and the good. Each name, with every word and deed, was on a separate page, With motives that had prompted all, from childhood to old age.

I felt myself quite confident. Had I not known the truth, And superintended Sabbath-school, and taught a class of youth? Had I not always paid my tithe? Did I not love the Lord? Had I not much attended church, and ever preached the word? But feared for my poor Brother A: his talents always small, His garb was very humble, and he looked so gaunt and tall, I always felt a tinge of shame to meet him in a crowd, And call him Brother A at all; I never spoke it loud.

His family was large and poor, and never dressed in style,— A laughing-stock for neighbors; e'en the gravest had to smile. We thought he had disgraced the cause in every place he went. At length, thought I, he'll see his wrong; too late now to repent. I thought of Deacon B with pride, broad acres under plow; He'd often been a delegate to Conference, and now His faith will be rewarded. I expect this very day He'll gain a crown of glory, that shall never fade away.

Slowly they turned the pages, and an angel read the name. Some gained eternal life, and some gained but contempt and shame. They called the name of Brother A. A sweet perfume was shed. The breath of prayer had stained the page, but still it could be read. A halo of bright glory all around the record shone: Loud was the welcome plaudit when the Master said, Well done. This gave me added confidence. If such a man as he Could win such approbation, then what would be said to me?

They read the name of Deacon B. His record bore no charm; “’Tis buried,” said the angel, “in the rubbish of the farm. ’Tis trampled so with cattle that it never can be read, We know not whether he is with the living or the dead.”

The pages of those records seemed to have a counterpart, A very close connection, with our memory and heart: And so with all transactions; every word and thought, and look Seemed then to be reflected on the pages of the book.

I saw no rainbow o’er my name, nor any sweet perfume. The reading of the record cast a shadow and a gloom. To every fancy sermon preached, beneath the last amen Was written by the angel scribe, “He loved the praise of men.”

And all the good deeds I had done, in childhood, youth, and age: “Mere selfishness,” was written at the bottom of the page. I sank with sickish horror, and I wakened with a scream: And oh, how very thankful I that it only was a dream!