THE COMING OF THE LORD by L. D. Santee

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 7, 1878

THE COMING OF THE LORD.

By L. D. Santee

Up to the solemn arch my eyes are turning, And slow I see the white-winged clouds go by, For His dear presence how my soul is yearning, Who sometime will appear in yonder sky.

Days still pass, and evening's starry banner Follows after day's retiring king; And yet I list in vain for the hosanna That all the white-robed, bloodwashed throng shall sing.

Mornings come, and on the earth's broad bosom Soft I see the wavering shadows lie; But I look in vain to see the glory Christ will throw upon the morning sky.

Earth with funereal draping lies in sorrow; Deep the serpent-trail that sin has worn; Shall we vainly wait the promised morrow, When shall come relief to bosoms torn?

And the deep, the restless ocean hoary, As its tides accustomed reaches span, Seems to moan the tale of sin's sad story Since the morning stars together sang.

The sad sea ever tells of lost dominion, As its billows weep upon the shore, When the dove of peace, with weary pinion, Left bright Eden to return no more.

Six millenniums, with their changing seasons, Have slowly wheeled their cycles in the past; Human souls, although endowed with reason, Deeper into sin their lives have cast.

And the earth, in sin and darkness lying, While her voice of music now is dumb, Up to Heaven still lifts her hands, while crying For the Lord of mercy soon to come.

Soon will the earth behold his chariot nearing,— God to fulfill his promise is not slack,— Sinners will stand aghast with woe and fearing, When he appears upon his flaming track.

Saints shall dwell with Christ, at peace forever Their feet shall rest upon the jasper sea, And all the ties that cruel death has severed Forevermore shall reunited be.

Welcome the rest beside life's flowing river; Pleasures shall last through God's eternal years; Blest shall we be with Christ, the gracious giver, Joys without end all free from pains and tears.

Up to the solemn arch my eyes are turning, And slow I see the white-winged clouds go by; My faith is strong, and still my heart is yearning, For I shall see Him coming by-and-by.

L. D. SANTEE.