PEACE by Amanda T. Jones

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, Cal. · Aug 21, 1879

PEACE.

By Amanda T. Jones

THERE fell upon my soul a shadow dreary— 'Twas the heart's evening following its day— With its long thought my toiling brain was weary, And scarce could frame the prayer my lips would say.

In the soul's oratorio, kneeling lowly, Thus with the Giver of my life I plead: “O! let the seraph, Peace, high-browed and holy, Bind her white flowers about my aching head.”

All my sad soul dissolved in that petition; Then to my prayer a still, small voice replied, “Peace, of love's labor is the glad fruition; The heritage that waits the furnace-tried.”

Then, answer made I none; my heart was shaken; As the spent dove, held by the hungry hawk, So was my soul by gray-winged Dread o'ertaken, And felt strange fears its bitter anguish mock.

Then said I to my soul, “Where is thy labor? And where the cure thy healing touch hath wrought? Hast thou sought out thy sorrowing friend or neighbor, And fed him with the bread of holy thought? Hast thou not loved thyself, O! mournful spirit, More than all things upon the earth that be? Thou hast. Then thine own bitter thoughts inherit; For the white flowers of Peace are not for thee— Never for thee, until thou hast forgotten Thy selfish sorrows in another's woe! Then shall sweet Peace, of love and truth begotten, Around thy brow her snowy chaplet throw.”

—Amanda T. Jones, in Ladies' Repository.