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THE HEAVEN WHITE DRESS

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Oct 11, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 41.

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THE HEAVEN WHITE DRESS.

By T. R. Williamson

THE gates of pearl swing wide, so wide That the eyes of the soul may see How the ripples dance on the crystal tide Where the pure breeze plays from side to side Of the jasper-tinted sea.
The lake flowers in the life winds wave In their radiant gold and blue. The swift, light birds in the calm streams lave, And my soul, earth held, doth upward crave For a nearer, surer view.
The gates of joy swing wide, O, wide, And the lambent crown-stars fair Shine clear on forms that float and glide In the scented air, on the opal tide! And, O, to be there, to be there!
And converse held by angel tongues Steals down to the soul's rapt ear: "Ho, brother, just home from the vale of wrongs, From the earth, that of right to Christ belongs, How goes the brave work o'er there?
"Do kings of earth, unstinted, spare Their gold and power so brave, For the help of the hearts hard pressed by care, To lift the lowly to honors rare, To shield, and guide, and save?
"Does the might of realms insure the reign Of justice from shore to shore? Do grandeur and wealth the sure state maintain Of plenty and peace o'er mount and plain, For all of both rich and poor?
"And, brother, do human hearts aspire To the bliss of our home of rest? In the soot of sin and its vile desire, In the murk clouds o'er broad ways of mire, Do they yearn for the heaven white dress?"
O gleaming gates, swing fully wide, For I stand on a darksome shore; And what earth calls light drifts in to hide, Like death-hued shade, your matchless tide Of refulgent life and power!
The wire of faith is tingling now With heavenly notes of praise, And the clash of the harp-strings, high and low, Like quavering, mystical flute-tones flow To my ear in this isle of drear days,
In praise to God, to Christ, the King, For the might, and the light, and joy, For the peace and the happiness holiness brings, For the fine, kindly kingliness purity brings, For pleasures without an alloy.
Answer, O earth, to the questionings That the heavens are asking so fair! As we plod through our daily journeyings, Do we strive up-grade, toward glorious things? Or is it down-hill to despair?
Thank God there are those who make reply: "The earth is the Lord's evermore; The horror of guilt brings doom to the eye; The gulf of oblivion waiteth close by: Its black depths have no golden shore;
"Yet earth shall glow once more, I guess, As a lustrous star among stars. There's a host in the gloom who upward press Toward the heavenly hills, for the heaven white dress That no grime of sin ever mars." T. R. WILLIAMSON. Oakland, Cal.