The Call | AdventAI

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 16, 1863

The Call.

The night is dark; behold, the shade was deeper In the old garden of Gethsemane, When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper— "Could'st thou not watch one hour alone with me?"

O thou! so weary of thy self-denials, And so impatient of thy daily cross, Is it so hard to bear thy little trials, To count all earthly things a gainful loss?

What if thou always suffer tribulation, And if thy Christian warfare never cease, The gaining of the quiet habitation Shall gather thee to everlasting peace.

But here we all must suffer, walking lonely The path that Jesus once himself hath gone: Watch thou in patience through the dark hour only— This one dark hour before the eternal dawn.

The captive's oar may pause upon the galley, The soldier sleep beneath the plumed crest, And peace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley, But thou, O Christian! must not take thy rest.

Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee, With him who trod the wine-press all alone: Thou wilt not find one human hand to aid thee— One human soul to comprehend thine own.

Heed not the images forever thronging From out the foregoing life thou livest no more; Faint-hearted mariner, still art thou longing For the dim line of the receding shore?

Wilt thou find rest of soul in thy returning To that old path thou hast so vainly trod? Hast thou forgotten all thy weary yearning To walk among the children of thy God—

Faithful and steadfast in their consecration, Living by that high faith to thee so dim, Declaring before God their dedication, So far from thee because so near to him?

Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription— "Behold we count them happy who endure?" What treasures wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian Repass the stormy water to secure?

Poor wandering soul! I know that thou art seeking Some easier way, as all have sought before, To silence the reproachful inward speaking— Some landward path unto an island shore.

The cross is heavy in thy human measure— The way too narrow for thy inward pride; Thou canst not lay thine intellectual treasure At the low footstool of the crucified.

Oh! that thy faithless soul, one great hour only, Would comprehend the Christian's perfect life— Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely, Yet calmly looking upward in its strife.

For poverty and self-renunciation, The Father yielded back a thousand fold; In the calm stillness of regeneration, Cometh a joy we never knew of old.

In meek obedience to the heavenly Teacher, Thy weary soul can find its only peace; Seeking no aid from any human creature— Looking to God alone for his release.

And he will come in his own time and power, To set his earnest-hearted children free: Watch only through this dark and painful hour, And the bright morning yet will break for thee.