Two Paths by Mary A. Davis

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Apr 26, 1877

Two Paths.

By Mary A. Davis

Are there two paths that lead from earth’s dark plains Up to the glorious City of our God? Is there an easier way than that which all The unnumbered throng of ransomed ones have trod?

One path the Saviour chose. His form was bowed with grief, His visage marred more than the sons of men. His footsteps, traced in blood, mark all the way. Prophets, apostles, holy men of old, Here walked, and the unnamed, illustrious throng Who wandered on the mountains bleak and wild, Or dwelt in dens and caves, of whom the world Was all unworthy, who were slain, were torn Asunder, yielding not their faith, because They sought a better resurrection. Thus They overcame, and in their Leader’s name Wrought mighty works.

The eye was fixed on God, And while they toiled, and agonized, and prayed— The sweat drops on their brow—there rested too A holy calmness that was not of earth; Above the marks of toil and anguish shone The light of Heaven reflected. From their lips Oft burst sweet strains of music, joyful praise, As they had caught the glad triumphal song They hoped to swell on the immortal shore. Another path lay close beside the first, Another way, and yet it seemed the same, And they who walked therein were pilgrims too. Upon their grayer robes were traced the words, “Dead to the world,” and “New Jerusalem.” Sometimes were heard the songs of Zion there, But oftener far there floated on the air, Wild, rippling laughter and the worldling’s song. No bloodmarks there, no tears of penitence; They followed Pleasure and her giddy train; Yet, even in their glee, upon each brow Rested a shadow, and ’mid peals of mirth Breathed many a sigh.

Does this path also lead Up to the hills of promise? No; ah! no. Little by little it wound away, So slowly that the busy, heedless throng— Many who started in the narrow way, Too soon beguiled into this easier path— Noticed it not, and soon it merged itself Into the smooth, broad road by worldlings trod. They knew it not. The light of Heaven went out; The Golden City ceased to charm their sight. Blinded with pleasure they swept gaily on, Till mercy fled, and the dread wrath of God Burst in its terror on a doomed world. The Judge appeared; the great white throne was set; The harvest of the earth, the golden wheat, The clusters of the vine, were gathered there, Or for the garner as a precious store Or but to fill the wine-press of his wrath. Where now were they who trod the narrow path? Their weariness was gone, their grief and pain; Their brows were radiant with heavenly light. From this vast multitude a mighty shout, The voice of many waters, rent the air With alleluias; “for the Lord our God Omnipotent doth reign. Let us rejoice And give him honor.

But that giddy throng, Oh! where were they, who chose the downward road? Their faces gathered blackness, and their robes Were torn and blood-stained. They were shelterless. From their pale lips burst forth the fearful cry, “Alas for us! the summer now is gone, The harvest past, and we are yet unsaved. O rocks and mountains! fall, and hide us from The face of Him who sits upon the throne. The day of wrath is come, and who shall stand?” And multitudes of lost ones crowded round, And in accusing tones cried out to them, Had it not been for you, we had been saved, We looked to you, and now, let our soul’s blood Be on your heads.

Reader, be not deceived. Only one path leads up from earth’s dark plains To that bright goal, the City of our God. There is no easier way for us than all The countless throng of the redeemed have trod. Choose wisely now. It may be thine at last To say with joy, “The good fight I have fought; My course is finished, I have kept the faith; Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown Of righteousness, which He, the righteous Judge, Shall give me at that day, when he appears.”

MARY A. DAVIS.

Battle Creek, Mich.