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HOPE ON, TOIL ON

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 4, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 27.

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HOPE ON, TOIL ON.

By J. A. Edgerton

O my brother, are you weary? Does the way seem long and dreary That leads up to the new era You have pictured in your dreams? Is your portion one of sorrow? Yet be brave and strive to borrow From the glory of the morrow, That beyond your vision gleams.
"Never?" Cease the wail of "never," For the race goes on forever Up the highway of endeavor To heights that onward glow. There is no room for despairing, But for action and for daring, And for helping and upbearing One another as we go.
There are lives that we may brighten, There are burdens we may lighten, There are joys that we may heighten, There are wounded hearts to bind; There are fetters to be broken, There are blessings to be spoken, Let us give them as a token Of the love we bear mankind.
See, a golden bow is bending Over us, its glory lending Unto us, a message sending That the world is moving on; From its ancient moorings drifting, While the tides of thought are shifting, And the shadows are uplifting From the gateways of the dawn.
O my brother, cease complaining. See, the night of wrong is waning, And the King of right is reigning, And the flag of hope's unfurled. There are evils left for righting, There are battles left for fighting, There are beacons left for lighting, To illuminate the world.
As, when all her hues combining In a golden-tinted lining, Through the clouds the morn is shining, So the Future's upturned face, With a glow of promise burning, My rapt spirit is discerning, While humanity is turning To the morning of the race.
A prophetic sense comes o'er me; A new epoch spreads before me; And the human seas are stormy, And I hear a cry of "War." Then a vision looms entrancing On my sight. With armor glancing Comes a mighty host advancing, Like an army, from afar.
Through the valleys it is swarming; From the shops its ranks are forming; Its embattled lines are storming Evil's bastions old and gray. I can see its banners streaming, I can see its forefront gleaming In the dawn-light on it beaming From the new and grander day.
'Tis the rising of the masses In their struggle with the classes— Like a dream the vision passes, While another yet I see; In the midst of every nation Two great forces take their station, And the minions of oppression Meet the hosts of liberty.
'Tis the conflict of the ages; It has been foretold by sages, And on poets', prophets' pages, For a thousand years and more. It is coming, we are near it; The faint rumbling, don't you hear it? Gird your armor, do not fear it, 'Tis the great and final war;
When the hosts of toil from slumber Shall arise in strength of number, And shall smite the foes who cumber Earth with ancient forms of wrong; When old evils shall be righted, And above the lands benighted Freedom's beacons shall be lighted, While the earth is filled with song.
O my brother, why repining? All the clouds have silver lining, And the rose-white dawn is shining O'er the yet unrisen day. Ever forward, ever dawnward, Swings the world, and ever onward; While the Christ-soul leads us vanward On the ever-upward way.
Better days are breaking o'er us; From the nearing goal before us We can hear a joyous chorus Wafted o'er the years to be. Through the portals, open swinging, Notes of sweet and rapturous singing Down the future's aisles are ringing From the anthems of the free. J. A. EDGERTON.