"THY DEAD MEN SHALL LIVE."
By Editor
Out of the dust they will come forth, the armies of the dead,
They who are marshaled at the trump, who by God's voice are led,
Methinks the dust of Palestine will earliest be stirred,
For there the trumpet's notes perchance will earliest be heard. Then Abel slain for offering accepted of the Lord,
Will triumph o'er his martyred bed, at last to have reward;
The hoary patriarchal race forth from their long sleep come,
And find at last the promised "rest," in New Jerusalem. (Doth some one say, "Oh, who shall find each hidden saint's low bed?")
The 'min'string spirits' faithful keep the mem'ry of the dead.
When each salvation's heir retires to sleep in mouldering dust,)
His angel marks his hallowed place, the dwelling of the just. Since "wary" Noah, "warned of God, of things not seen as yet,"
Prepared an ark, the faithful Lord will not his faith forget,
Up from the dead the patriarch—the "heir of righteousness,"
Will rise at earliest call of trump, and his Creator bless. For he that sailed across the flood, from old world to the new,
Shall see again a world restored, more glorious far to view.
The God of Abraham doth call, as erst he doth obey,
And in his robe of righteousness from earth he's caught away. He trusted that His promise sure, would Israel's God perform,
To him the covenant was bright—the rainbow of life's storm.
The father of the faithful, he to whom the plan was given,
Saw all its promises fulfilled—afar in earth made heaven. So from Machpelah's cave they'll come, who safe were laid away,
To wait until the heirs awake on heaven's festal day;
And Rachel, too, who lone was laid not far from Bethlehem,
She will be summoned from her grave—be gathered too with them. Yes, all the sacred throng will come from ancient Palestine,
The "dry bones" all then raised to life, an army will be seen!
Melchisedec, mysterious king, and priest of the Most High,
Will rise to meet his Antitype descending in the sky. And Job's dry bones will then revive, that he his Lord may see,
With his "Redeemer" then to "reign" when comes the Jubilee,—
For well the resurrection hope, it bore his faint soul up,
When he had wrung the bitter dregs of sorrow's bitter cup. And David, gifted shepherd bard—who hath not yet ascended,
He then will tune his harp anew, its silence ever ended. And then Isaiah's lofty soul, how lofty 'twill soar,
When his bright vision is fulfilled upon the Eden shore! Yea, sawn asunder though he were, and like a felon slain,
Yet he'll be made like to his God, when he shall live again.
Methinks he'll tune some royal lyre in seraph melody,
While listening angels hush their strings so rapturous 'twill be! Tuned to its strains anew they'll burst in heavenly harmony,
And swelling anthems loud resound beneath Life's sacred tree.
The Hebrew captive, Daniel, will share a happy lot—
Will have his part as king and priest, the "former things" forgot. O, what a holy company from Judea's hill will rise,
To meet the King of glory descending in the skies!
And every nation hath some names, now written with the just,
And every kindred, every tongue, hath yet some hallowed dust, That waits to hear the startling trump, to joyful life to wake,
And rise victorious over death, immortal bodies take.
The martyred ones, O what a host, who're crying now "how long,"
From vale and mountain, and from main, will join the gathered throng. The precious dust that long hath been the sport of wind and wave,
Will be remembered then, as though 'twere treasured in the grave.
A Wickliff's ashes borne away and scattered by the storm,
Will all be gathered at the trump, and take a glorious form. The dead shall hear the voice of God, and startle from their sleep,
For o'er the fragments of their dust bright angels vigils keep.
Methinks e'en now, in death's dark vale, upon the bones that lie
Scattered, disjointed, marrowless, the Spirit breathes the sigh—
Methinks the breath commissioned now is breathing on the slain,
And quickly when King Jesus comes they all will live again.—Ed.