Martin Luther by M. S.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 31, 1878

Martin Luther.

By M. S.

SCENE I.

The twilight shades were deepening; In a dwelling far away, Where a worthy man sat playing His flute, at close of day, While his faithful wife made ready Their simple evening meal. Oh! here's a home of plenty! Here are hearts that feel!

Without the winds are raging, And the snow is falling fast. Ah, how sad for any wanderer Who must face the wintry blast! But hark! what lovely music Floating upward from the street— “Foxes to their holes have gone, Every bird unto its nest, But I wander here alone, And for me there is no rest.” 'Tis a little weary singer Sadly comes for bread to eat.

Dame Ursula had just buried In the grave a prattling one, And her stricken heart was open To receive the miner's son. To his doorway hastes the goodman, For the child is standing there; Thrice repulsed and quite discouraged,— Further effort can he dare?

“Oh, charity, for Christ's sake!” In a timid voice he cried. And the goodman bade him enter, Tenderly his wants supplied. Little did they dream this mansion Was, henceforth, to be his home; Little thought they this sweet singer Would, ere long, dare vanquish Rome.

SCENE II.

Years pass away. Within his quiet chamber, A lone man wrestles mightily in prayer; His faith grows weak, his foes are multiplying, His soul is tossed and driven here and there, Now reeling, sinking, then to Heaven ascending. Oh! listen to his broken, anguished cries While hope and fear his inmost soul seem rending:

“Almighty God, and everlasting Father, How weak is flesh, and Satan, oh, how great! The world is strong, my faith and courage waver; My last hour's come; they'd swallow me in hate. O God, O God! defeat the wrath of men. The cause is thine, and thou hast chosen me— A righteous cause, and though my body be Reduced to ashes, I will cleave to thee. My soul is thine. Amen. God help! Amen.”

SCENE III.

In an ancient, lordly city, Where the pope through minions rages, Dauntless stands the friar Martin, Knights and princes, priests and sages, August diet, most imposing, Never seen in all the ages. Is he saint? or is he demon? Thus opposed the council stands; Vengeance is decreed to Luther, And his life is in their hands.

What vast theme is he discoursing That should make them shudder, quail, 'Neath his glances, quick and piercing? Their proud hearts begin to fail. From his lips there flows great wisdom Never heard in all the land.

All his judges are confounded; What to say they do not know; With such true, unyielding firmness, Who his heresies will show? Not an enemy dare answer, All are still, as if spell-bound; Though they hate him most intensely, No one ventures to confound.

When his foes have gathered courage, “Now retract!” they fiercely cry; But, sublime in truth, he views them, Dauntless though they doom to die. And he said, with deep emotion, “Here I stand, can do no other, May God help me!” What a triumph! Vain their rage the truth to smother.

'Twas the Saviour sent an angel To stand by his trusting child; And his shrinking soul, thus strengthened, Meets the world so grand, so mild. Thus it has been, thus it will be, In all times, in every land: Those who put their trust in Jesus Feel his all-sustaining hand.

Battle Creek College. M. S.