THE SKEPTIC | AdventAI

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 23, 1859

THE SKEPTIC.

I ENVY not the skeptic His gloomy realm of doubt— Whose sun is but a meteor, To flash and then go out— No moon or star of comfort, To cheer affliction's night; No gleam of lovely morning, To bless his longing sight.

The fairest earth-born flowers, That bloom along his way, Unfold, mature, and wither In life's bleak, transient day. Then comes the cheerless winter Of dark, unbroken death; No future smiling spring-time, Seen by the eye of faith.

Without a chart or compass, On life's dark stormy sea; And near the fearful "maelstrom," Unknown eternity; Toss'd by contending passions, His bark goes drifting on, Till, in the circling eddies, 'Tis caught—and he is gone.

Give me the christian's Saviour, Blest "Sun of righteousness," Whose brightest beams are rapture, Whose feeblest rays are peace. Forever in the ascendant, Throughout life's changeful day, To shine in cloudless glory, Through long eternity.

Give me the bow of promise, That spans the christian's sky; Displaying hope's bright colors, When clouds go drifting by. The flowers that in their beauty, Along his pathway rise; Nor wither—but, transplanted, Unfold in Paradise.

Give me the christian's compass, His sure unerring chart, My eye upon the Bible, The Spirit in my heart. 'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis, I'll safely steer my way, And make the blissful harbor Of everlasting day.

Forever and forever, Safe from earth's toil and strife, Beside the crystal river, Beneath the tree of life— In everlasting mansions, Bright regions of the blest, Within the gold-paved city, Give me the christian's rest.—S. S. Times.