HAST THOU DONE THY BEST?
By Llewellyn A. Morrison
BY LLEWELLYN A. MORRISON. How the fast days, fleeting, fill the short, swift years!
Like a dim dream ending, so this life appears.
All its lights and shadows seem to flash and blend,
Like the ray-flecked meadows where the sunbeams end.
I hear God calling
From the setting sun—
While dew damps, falling,
Tell the brief day done.
"With morning shining
Thou had wondrous zest;
Now the day's declining,
Hast thou done thy best?" There were sore hearts near thee when the day was new;
There were hands upreaching the whole day through;
Didst thou heal and comfort? Didst thou help or heed?
Or did night shades, falling, find the same sad need? And still God calleth
By the setting sun;
Still dew damp falleth
When the day is done;
The cloudway hideth
Still the moon's wan crest;
Still the heart's voice chideth,
"Hast thou done thy best?" Oh, the souls that perish and go down to death,
While our help hopes vanish like our vapid breath!
Ring the call for service e'er the shadows fall
And the white throne shineth where He measures all. God calls at even
By the setting sun;
" 'Tis home and heaven
When the work is done;
Each crown'd brow weareth
A 'new name' confest
When the record beareth—
'Thou hast done thy best.' "
—Word and Works.