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TO-NIGHT

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 24, 1879

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 54, No. 5.

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TO-NIGHT

By Mrs. Eliza Jones

There is sadness in the twilight, There are shadows ’mid the trees, There are murmurs coming softly From the willows on the breeze; But a feeling softer, sadder Than the gloaming evening light, Is the faint and weird misgiving, Would I dare to die to-night?
Then the chime of far-off church bells, Stealing softly through the air, Tolling slowly, tell me sweetly Of the altar and of prayer. If I kneel and raise my eyelids To the twinkling stars so bright, Would they tell me in their sparkle It were well to die to-night?
How I love to hear the story Of that home for sinners blest, Far away in realms of glory, Where some day we all may rest. Oh, to pierce the space and see it In the gloaming evening light, Then to hear the summons loudly Bid us welcome there to-night!
Kneeling low in humble prayer, Could I, dare I, hear it now? With my eyelids wide unclosing, See my Saviour as I bow; Hear that welcome, “Good and faithful,” Enter now the joys prepared, The home eternal in the heavens, That thy Lord and Master reared.
Methinks ’twere well to hear the summons, While the prayer of faith should rise Swiftly ’mid the evening shadows, Till it reached the glorious skies, Kneeling while our prayers had risen To the throne of heavenly might, And the angels opening Heaven Bear us swiftly thence to-night.
Stay! dare I alone with prayer Stand before the Judgment throne? Must I not here fight temptation? Work, to win and wear a crown? Lips might shrivel through long praying, Hands and feet through kneeling blight; That would not win Heaven’s favor, Were we called away to-night.
Up and work! the grain is ripening, Waiting to be garnered home, And the poor and sad are crying For the light of truth to come. There’s a time for prayer and praises, Time to battle for the right; Now ’tis ours to search the by-ways,— Dare not ask for Heaven to-night.
When the grain all home is gathered, All the church in season fed, Wandering spirits seeking Heaven To the healing fountains led; Then if deepening twilight shadows Gather o’er my fading sight, I will close my eyes and whisper, Well! thy will be done to-night.
MRS. ELIZA JONES.