THE BIBLE by Elizabeth R. Dunbar

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Oct 16, 1879

THE BIBLE.

By Elizabeth R. Dunbar

Poised between earth and Heaven, its loftier edge Is swept by angels' wings; And yet, so low it swings, A little child may touch its secret springs.

All the glad songs of earth, or sea, or sky Wake not the joyful strain, Or give such sweet refrain, To soothe an aching heart, or bed of pain.

The poet sweeps afar on fancy's wing; But here our thoughts may rise Beyond ethereal skies, Still on and on, when nature faints and dies.

Towering where earthly wisdom cannot reach, And yet so simply clear, Sublimest truths appear, The wayfarer with confidence draws near.

There may be gathered, with a skillful hand, The fairest things of earth; But oh, their frailer birth Stamps them forever with a meaner worth.

Nations and kings may utter their behests; This voice, though small and still, Softer than murmuring rill, Can sway with readier might the human will.

Love born of earth may shroud itself in tears; But this love never drew A veil of somber hue, But what some promise sweet might struggle through.

Afar its healing flows, yet oh, how near! How wide, yet deep within, Covering all space of sin, Along the track where human step hath been.

From darkest border up to Heaven's bright verge, From desolate shore of gloom To hope's perennial bloom, It floods with light the cradle and the tomb.

—Elizabeth R. Dunbar.