Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 11

Have Mercy on Yourselves.

Have mercy, Lord, we often pray, And lead us in the narrow way, While we ourselves refuse to go Where G.o.d can lead or mercy show.

Have mercy on yourselves. Beware Lest you are caught in Satan's snare, Or wandering far on worldly ground, Are in its deadening spirit drowned.

Have mercy on yourselves. Take heed, That no perverted taste you feed; That neither word nor act degrade The vows and promises you've made.

True, in ourselves we helpless are To help ourselves. Lord help, 's our prayer, Poor, wretched, miserable and blind, In thee all needed help we find.

Be this our motto, then: We'll try To help ourselves; while G.o.d is nigh; And he in every trying hour Will aid us with his sovereign power.

The Advent.

Those who've heard the proclamation Of a coming Saviour near, Will behold him in great splendor, When in clouds he shall appear.

He will come; this generation Will not pa.s.s till all is o'er.

Signs foretell he's now approaching, And is even at the door.

Oh! what scenes will burst upon us, When the heavens and earth shall shake, When the trump of G.o.d is sounding, And the dead in Christ awake!

Saints now living, made immortal, With the risen from the dead, All arrayed in robes of honor, With their Saviour at their head.

Freed from sin and every sorrow, Ever to be with their Lord, And for all they've suffered for him, Meet a rich and sure reward.

But where will the thoughtless sinner Find a secret place to hide, From the wrath of him who loved us, And for us was crucified?

Rocks and mountains cannot hide them, Caves and dens are sought in vain; Unlamented and unburied, Will be found the wicked slain.

If there's yet one ray of mercy, Lingering for transgressors here, Let them haste to gain the treasure, Bought and paid for us so dear.

The Coming Day.

The great day is near, when probation no more, For the careless backslider will longer remain; And the sinner will find when all mercy is o'er, What a treasure he's lost which he might have attain'd.

The saints will come forth in immortal array, Their triumph o'er death and the grave be complete, The living be changed, and together ascend, Their glorious Redeemer in Heaven to meet.

With him forever, 'tis said they will be, And the song of their victory never shall end.

Forever with Christ in his glorious home,-- Oh, who can such glory and bliss comprehend?

And are we prepared for this glorious place?

Are we able to stand when the Lord shall appear?

Our victory o'er self must be full and entire, Or still for ourselves may we tremble and fear.

G.o.d loves to redeem and to save us from sin; Let us haste to pursue the true path of reform; And the strength of Omnipotence then will be ours; We shall conquer the foe, we shall weather the storm.

Domestic Afflictions.

From the story "A Skeleton in every house."

Domestic afflictions! Oh! how they divide; How sad when we can't in each other confide, This anguish, though deep, must in silence be borne, Abroad, home afflictions should not be made known.

Beware when 'tis said, Oh! how happy you are, Not even to hint there's a skeleton there, The sight of which fills with deep anguish the heart, Oh! 'tis nought to see loved ones and kindred depart.

When the grave has enclosed them, the grief wears away; But oh! living griefs on the stoutest hearts prey; Though you smile and seem joyful, 'tis but to conceal The depth of the misery you inwardly feel.

How oft, where true peace undisturbed is enjoyed, By a member additional, all is destroyed; No congenial spirit, domestic joys o'er, And home, O sweet home, there is realized no more.

When obliged to have inmates aside from our own, How oft seeds of discord and anguish are sown; The world thus is filled with confusion and strife, Embittering the peace and the quiet of life.

Well, be this our portion; be broken each tie; On the arm of the Lord we alone must rely.

With a meek, quiet spirit, resigning our all, Content in our Father's allotments to fall.

The Christian's Desire.

I long, O G.o.d! to call thee mine, And know that I am truly thine; That all I think, or say, or do, May meet thine approbation, too.

In all, thy glory I would seek, And but for thee, Lord, would not speak; I'd raise my voice in grateful lays, Nor would I move but to thy praise.

I'd part with joys of earthly mould, And pa.s.s through trials yet untold, Could I but know my Lord was there, And did each bitter cup prepare.

I'd love to drink it, and rejoice To have thy will, dear Lord, my choice.

If I might choose, I'd leave to thee The whole control of mine and me.

G.o.d will protect and save his own, Though in the fiery furnace thrown; But did we know our case was sure, 'T might not effect sin's needed cure.

To break our hold of every tie, That we to sin and self may die, G.o.d seems to quite forsake us here, Nor leave one ray of light to cheer.

Though painful now, "the darkest day, To-morrow, will have pa.s.sed away,"