p. 175 | Idols by C. M. Willis

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 2, 1865

Idols.

By C. M. Willis

In distant lands the people sigh, And bow beneath a heavy load; To stocks and stones they raise their cry, And worship them, and call them God. But in our own enlightened land, Where we profess the living God, We thank our Lord with outstretched hands, We do not walk the heathen's road.

But let us push aside the veil, The inner temple enter in; See if idolatry prevail,— Or if 'tis garnished, swept, and clean. We see them on their worship day, God's holy temple enter in, They kneel with reverent mien and pray, And join with awe the sacred hymn.

But where's the heart? ah, whither bent The thoughts? Ah they're with earthly things; How stocks are rising ten per cent, How much produce in market brings: Their neighbor's poor plain garb compare With theirs so showy, rich and gay, Then with a self complaisant air, Their duty done, they stride away.

At their own hearthstone 'tis the same, The Bible glanced at, laid aside; Religion dwells there but in name; Their children learn, but to deride. A prayer is uttered morn and night, For earthly blessings dearly loved; Enjoy them as if 'were by right; And murmur if there's one removed.

Their neighbor lives on poorest fare— They thank their God they're not like him: Their table's spread with viands rare, Their granaries overflow the brim. They must build larger, wider barns, Lay up for future use, a store, And add more acres to their farms, But not a farthing for the poor!

Is all this pleasing in God's eyes? Is this the Christian's noble part? God loves a humble sacrifice, A broken and a contrite heart. While we deplore the heathen's state, In ignorance vile, and darkness gross, Our privileges are all so great, Much, much will be required of us.

Trembling, oh let us search within, With groanings deep, and earnest prayer: Perhaps some unknown secret sin, Some cherished idol's lurking there. Oh then all idols sacrifice, All broken vows make haste to pay, Lest the poor heathen we despise, Shall rise in judgment in that day. C. M. WILLIS.

Charlotte, Mich.