FROM CREATION TO REDEMPTION.
By Lilla D. Avery
Darkness and chaos reign o’er all the earth!
No moon, no stars, to cheer the awful night,
Naught but confusion, vacancy, and dearth,
No shape, no form, no beam of cheering light,
No ray of sunshine, lights the waveless deep.
No sound to break creation’s death-like sleep! When hark! a voice sounds o’er the darkened sky—
“Let there be light!” and wakening nature hears.
With magic speed the misty shadows fly.
Jehovah speaks, and dawning light appears.
Night’s sable curtain quickly melts away;
And darkness flies before the new-born day. The mighty transformation still goes on.
Dry land appears arrayed in verdure bright.
To rule the day, shines forth the glorious sun,
And silvery Luna beautifies the night;
While bright-winged songsters, beauteous and fair,
With strains melodious fill the boundless air. The work advances still, and o’er the land
Roam harmless creatures, ’neath the grateful shade,
With none to guide them but their Maker’s hand,
With none to harm them, or to make afraid;
While in the waters of the briny sea,
Sport finny monsters, careless, wild, and free. Once more Jehovah speaks, and angels gaze
In admiration; while through boundless air,
The sons of God their shouts of gladness raise
As man stands forth, majestical and fair,
In God’s own image, beauteous and grand,
The crowning glory of Jehovah’s hand. Thus all is finished, perfect and complete,
The six days’ labor now is in the past.
Jehovah’s rest-day, quiet, calm and sweet,
The holy Sabbath, dawns o’er earth at last,
Oh, sacred day! the holiest and the best,
Which great Jehovah sanctified and blest. O beauteous Eden! “Garden of the Lord!”
How calm and sweet thine amaranthine bowers!
What luscious fruits thy waving palms afford!
How rich the perfume of undying flowers!
How sweet the echoes of the music rare,
That fills with melody the balmy air! O sweet abode of innocence and joy
E’er sin had entered with its poisonous breath.
No gathering storm, no tempest to destroy,
No fading flowers, no suffering, nor death,
No mourner’s badge, no sad and tearful eye,
No fevered brow, nor sorrow’s bitter cry. “When lo! a cloud,” in darkness seems to rise.
All hushed the music of the Seraphim,
The gladsome echo from the harpstring dies,
And angel choirs suspend their joyous hymn;
For in the garden, subtle, soft, and low,
Are heard the accents of the wily foe. O sorrowing Earth, no longer blest and fair,
For sin hath entered with insidious tread.
Decay and death pollute the poisonous air,
And strew thy bosom with the silent dead.
O’er hill and dale the thorny bramble grows,
Where bloomed the myrtle and the scented rose. Thus, one by one, the weary years go by.
The sons of men forgetful of their God,
In reckless pride Jehovah’s Law defy,
’Till wrath o’ertakes them with avenging rod.
The storm comes on! The noisy waters dash.
Earth shakes and trembles ’neath the thunder’s crash. The trembling wretch has ceased his scornful boast.
The fiery lightning plays along the sky,
While pallid lips, in all that frenzied host,
In piercing accents, join the wailing cry.
The howling tempest shrieks a funeral dirge,
As round their forms the hungry waters surge. And when at last, with sad and solemn mien,
Earth’s lone survivors stand, the sorrowing eight,
O’er hill and vale confusion reigns supreme,
Earth’s ruined cities, still and desolate,
No cruel taunt, no careless, scornful sneer,
No tones blasphemous, break upon the ear. And thus emerged, from ’neath the whelming flood,
Our mighty earth—its former beauty fled,
All scarred and broken, now no longer good,
A silent graveyard of the perished dead.
But see the glorious rainbow arching high,
Sweet pledge of mercy, in the brightening sky. Time marches on, with never ceasing tread.
O’er peopled earth the grossest errors reign.
Ungodly men by superstitions led,
’Till Babel’s Tower appears on Shinar’s plain,
And wicked Sodom dares the chastening rod,
And with Gomorrah, feels the wrath of God. But radiant Hope, like dawning star appears,
And lights with joy the darkness of the skies.
Messiah’s advent is foretold by seers,
And faith is shown by bleeding sacrifice;
For as the trembling victim yields his breath,
So Christ for man shall bow his head in death. Four thousand years, with all their sin and crime,
Have passed forever o’er this mighty earth,
Since first began the onward march of Time,
And seraphs hailed a new creation’s birth.
When lo! He comes! Rejoice, ye sons of men,
And hail with joy, the Babe of Bethlehem! He comes! he comes! lost Israel’s sacred King,
The Prince of Judah, long ago foretold.
The blest assurance angels come to bring,
And strike anew their glittering harps of gold.
O stricken Earth! thou art supremely blest.
Arise, and hail thy long-expected Guest. He heals the sick; restores the groping blind;
Cheers the desponding, destitute, and low.
His tender heart, compassionate and kind,
E’er moves in pity at the sight of woe.
He calls the dead to life and strength again,
And brings salvation to the sons of men. And some believe, while others doubt and sneer.
Some hear his word with solemn, sacred joy;
Some shun his pathway, and his presence fear,
Whom fiendish men are seeking to destroy.
But from those sacred lips is never heard
To heartless foes an unforgiving word. And when at last on Calvary’s rugged side,
He meekly bows beneath the stroke of death,
For cruel foes who mockingly deride,
He prays for pardon, with his fainting breath.
And thus he dies upon the shameful tree,
O wondrous mercy! Love beyond degree! ’Tis finished all! The fearful debt is paid;
When lo! an angel, from the dazzling skies,
Descends in splendor where his form is laid,
And bids the Prince of Glory to arise.
A heavenly radiance lights the darkened gloom,
As Christ comes forth, victorious o’er the tomb. And when at last with painful, throbbing heart,
With sad foreboding and with tearful eye,
The sorrowing few behold their Lord depart
In cloudy chariot to the opening sky,
Two glorious beings, beauteous and bright,
Stand by their side arrayed in garments white. “Why stand ye here, ye men of Galilee,
To gaze in grief at your ascending Lord?
For this same Jesus, slain on Calvary,
Shall come again according to his word.
In kingly glory shall he then appear;
His word is sure, why do ye doubt and fear?” Yes, he will come again, our mighty King.
These blessed words our drooping spirits cheer;
And as the trees put forth their leaves in spring,
E’en so the signs portend his coming near.
Ye tardy years! roll on, and bring the day,
When his bright chariot shall no longer stay. The lame shall leap, the sightless eye shall see;
And desert wastes shall blossom like the rose.
Our mighty Prince in power and majesty
Shall reign victorious over all his foes,
And saints shall dwell upon the new-made earth,
More glorious still than at creation’s birth.