TO THE CHURCH OF LAODICEA.
By Elmira O. Davis
[The following lines were found among the writer's papers—her last offering for these pages. By them "she, being dead, yet speaketh."] CHURCH of Laodicea, where art thou?
What ails the glory of thy Saviour's brow?
Methinks I hear, in accents deep and low,
His voice float past me, as the chill winds blow,
Who once earth's pathway traveled in the gloom,
Endured the dreadful weight of wrath alone;
Dyed was his raiment in the crimson gore—
His life-blood, shed for thee whose sins he bore.
Why are thine eyes so dim, thy garments soiled?
Thy banners trampled in the dust, and spoiled?
Why dost thou cry, instead of victor's song,
I am so weak, and oh, my foes so strong?
Why, harpstrings loosed, thy harp swung idly now
On willow boughs, where turbid waters flow?
Oh, why a stranger from the house of prayer,
Thy voice not heard in praise and triumph there?
Saith the Amen, I know thy works, thy state;
That thou art wretched, blind, and desolate.
Thou sayest, I am rich, in need of naught;
Of thy deep poverty thou hast no thought.
List to the Faithful Witness, buy of him
The gold that hath been tried, and raiment clean,
Anoint thine eyes, that thou mayest clearly see,
And put thy sins all far away from thee.
Behold, I wait beside thy heart's dark door,
Where I have knocked and waited oft before.
If thou wilt open now, I'll come to thee,
Will spread the feast, and thou shalt sup with me.
Behold my locks wet with the midnight dews;
How long wilt thou my pleading love refuse?
Haste thee, ere yet the storm of wrath shall fall;
Haste thee, oh, haste, 'tis mercy's last sweet call;
Why longer trifle with earth's glittering toys?
Behold, I offer thee immortal joys;
Peace like a river, and, life's journey o'er,
At my right hand pleasures forevermore.
I have redeemed thee, called thee, thou art mine;
Cast off thy chains, O Zion, rise and shine.