“THE CHILDREN ARE COMING HOME.”
By Mary A. Davis
There is joy, there is joy at the fireside,
There are tears in the mother's eyes,
And the father's stern lip trembles
With a glad and sweet surprise. “They are coming home, the children,
Home to our warm embrace;
Oh, we long once more to greet them,
Each in his well-known place.
One from the field of battle,
One from the billowy main,
And one from the Western forests,
They are coming home again;
Each from his place so far away,
To spend at home the festal day. “We have tried to wait with patience,
But our hearts are weary grown,”
And again they tell the story,
“The children are coming home.”
“Let us gather up all the sunshine,
Let us wreathe the fairest flowers,
Pour strains of sweetest music,
For joy to-day is ours.
Our hearts and home are full of light,
For the children are coming home to-night.” “They are coming home, the children,”—
It sounds through the courts of Heaven;
They are coming, the blood-washed millions,
For the gates of death are riven.
They are coming, the saints and martyrs,
From the dungeon, the rack, the stake,
Where the wrath of men and demons,
They suffered for Christ's dear sake.
On the ocean wave were their ashes cast,
But they're coming safely home at last. Oh, think of the Saviour's longing
For the children of his love;
With joy will he haste to greet them,
As they throng through the courts above.
Through the courts above? Oh, never!
He will not wait to meet,
Even on the hills of Eden,
His children's coming feet.
He will go to the grave's dark portal,
With all the angelic band,
With shout and song to lead them
To the immortal land. Ring out, O bells of gladness!
Let the silver trumpets blow,
From every voice in Glory
Let the song of welcome flow!
Make ready the many mansions,
The royal robe prepare,
Bring the harp and the palm of triumph
For the victor's hands to bear,
And many a crown of starry light,
For the children coming home to-night. Home to the gates of Eden,
Whence they have been exiled long,
Free from the touch of sorrow,
Free from the taint of wrong.
Past the weary years of waiting!
Past the battle with self and sin!
Fling open the shining portals,
And let the ransomed in!
They are thronging up the steeps of light,
The children gathered home to-night. Make ready now the banquet,
The appointed time has come,
Bring forth the hidden manna,
For the children gathered home.
As he promised centuries agone,
To-night the Lamb will feast his own. Fresh from the sparkling fountain
The living waters bring,
Fill high each royal chalice
For the children of the King.
Bring the vineyard's purple clusters,
Let the ruddy wine be poured,
Bring the golden fruits of Eden
To grace the festal board.
The marriage of the Lamb has come,
And his exiled ones are gathered home. MARY A. DAVIS.
Battle Creek, Mich.