EQUAL TO THE ANGELS! by D. T. Taylor

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 6, 1876

“EQUAL TO THE ANGELS!”

By D. T. Taylor

Equal to the angels! Fellow-mortal, Christian soldier, Ye who from day to day are striving still your flesh And will to mortify, and do those things which please Thy Maker, and in his sight to stand approved— Didst thou ever dwell upon the glory of that promise— That man, poor fallen man, who, sunk in sin so low, Incarnate, suffering Deity alone could save, May, by repentance, faith and holiness, through Christ, Be counted worthy to obtain the world to come, To die no more, but to enjoy his Maker’s favor, And to the angels, who around the throne in glory stand, Be equal made?

Created are the angels, But of power exceeding far the sons of men. Once when the Assyrian king the hosts of Israel Sorely pressed, a mighty angel to the rescue came, And in one night vast numbers slew of warriors brave; They fell beneath his arm like reeds before the whirlwind’s power. And oft in apostolic age, when Christ’s Ambassadors by wicked men were imprisoned, angels, Sent by God, their prison doors wide open threw, And sent them forth again to tell mankind the words of life. And e’en the matchless Son of God, when suffering in the flesh The last, the fierce vindictive rage of hell’s dark prince, Was, by an angel’s strength, still stronger made. But chief By him, who God’s Apocalypse wrote, have we on record Mighty deeds performed by angels bright, who stand Before the Omnipotent, and wait his high command. But time would fail to sing of all—of him, who thought Himself with Satan equal to dispute, yet still No railing accusation ’gainst him durst he bring, (Christian, a lesson learn) but said, “The Lord rebuke thee”— Of him, who skill and understanding gave the “man beloved,” That he should far down the future see, and know When came the end—of him, who rolled away the stone That closed the sepulchre of the Crucified, Before whose lightning glance the keepers shook, and seeming died— Of him, who cried, “Oh, who to ope the sealed book is worthy?” Of those, who power have to hold the symbolic winds, That naught should hurt the earth or sea, until another Of the angelic host shall, with the Spirit, seal The servants of the living God, and thus complete The number of his saints—of those, to whom are given The seven trumpets, which bring on earth’s inhabitants Such awful woes—of him, who in mid-heaven cries, “Fear God, and to him glory give; for now is come His Judgment Hour”—of him, who will, with solemn oath, Proclaim the End of Time—of him, who’ll reap the earth— Of those, who’ll gather God’s elect—of him, who, girt With high commission, Satan binds, to roam no more Till ends the promised, long Millennial Reign Of Christ and all his saints—great day of God Almighty! With whom, a day a thousand years, a thousand years a day.

Such are the angels; such, as thou hast seen, their power. And though to them ’tis given, to pour upon the guilty Vials filled with wrath, yet oft their message is of peace On earth, good will to men. With lofty intellect Endowed, eclipsed by none but Him who formed them; With power and wisdom gifted next to him to whom All power in Heaven and earth is given; happy and fit They are to wait upon the Eternal One, and execute His dread commands. His will obeyed, they take their harps And sing his praise. The courts of Heaven ever ring And echo to their lofty, boundless song— “Holy, holy, holy! evermore; Lord God Almighty!”

Oh, the amazing love of God’s dear Son! Every saint In faith that died, and who believing live when sounds The “trump of wondrous melody,” immortal shall be made, And equal to the angels; in song almost superior. Ye suffering saints, rejoice, fresh courage take; for ye, On the right hand of bliss shall stand, And with your golden harps shall sing the rich new song— Song which around the throne of God was never heard before, Song of redeeming love, song which the angels cannot sing; For they were ne’er redeemed!

The happy day is rolling on, When ev’ry promise sweet, which he whose word can never fail Hath made to those who live the Christian here, shall be fulfill’d. All prophecy is history now, save that which close Upon the knell of time will come to pass, and that Which still remains for after years, when time is gone, Some prophecies, revealed by holy bards, Have tarried long; so long, that many wag the head, And, taunting, ask, “When will they come?” They’ll ask no more, Nor mock; for the reproach of prophecy will soon Be wiped away, and every word of God found true.

O fellow-mortal, listen to the solemn warnings Of the Book of Truth, the Lamp of God, which never shone, Till now, with such a luster bright upon the path Of time. O, to your Maker be ye reconciled, Ere with the Godhead’s burden he bow the heavens down, And come in awful pomp, to sweep into oblivion’s shade The wicked who his words despise. Methinks His retinue on high is now already marshal’d, And but wait the bidding of their King, to come with him To earth, to cleanse by fire this now rebellious world, His usurped kingdom; rescue and redeem the fair possession He with his own blood hath purchased—the field, which, For the treasure’s sake, the church, he bought, his life the price, And make it, in his time, all beautiful again, And give it to his saints. For he has said, that earth His footstool is, and that the place of his feet He will make glorious.

Happy! aye, thrice happy, them, Who waiting, watching, ready stand to meet their Lord. Their ravished eyes shall see the King in all his beauty, And behold the land which now, methinks, is not far off. Christian, thy Master’s coming soon; coming to crown His suffering church, now militant, and bid her welcome To her long, long happy home. O still fight on the fight of faith, And on eternal life lay hold. To Jesus look, The Author of thy faith and soon to be its Finisher: He’ll robe in glory bright who his appearing love, Who’re counted worthy to obtain the world to come, And resurrection out from ’mong the wicked dead, And reign forevermore, joint heirs with Jesus Christ, Of God and immortality; never, as here, To part hopeless of meeting soon; and never again to die. The endless years will come and go eternally, And find them happy still; and, to the mighty angels Who their homage pay to Him who sits in glory On the great white royal throne, be equal made. —D. T. Taylor.