THE CROSS OF LIFE by William T. Heald

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 29, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 17.

THE CROSS OF LIFE.

By William T. Heald

As reverently I bowed in prayer, I saw the Cross of Life uprear, And there, before my eyes, Stood not the sculptured marble pile Which men oft view with senseless smile, But simple, plain, and rugged cross, With half its body grown with moss. Did I affect surprise?

Its distance from my point of view Seemed so uncertain that I knew I could not tell its length. But as I gazed more steadfast there, Its measurement appeared more clear; Its ruggedness, its knots and thorns Stood out upon its stem and horns, Which were of giant strength.

A measuring rod beside it stood, A rod of hard and blood-stained wood, All marked in perfect scale. The measuring rod was human strife; The cross was long as human life; I cried aloud: "Is there no rest? Can none escape this fearful test Where toil and strife prevail?"

Then nearer drew the Cross of Life; Less fearful seemed the toil and strife; A disc above it pressed. I saw the Sun of Righteousness Was throwing rays upon its crest; And there beyond the measuring rod, As none could write, no, none but God, I read the sweet word "rest." William T. Heald.