Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 24

Be Faithful.

Tune--"Be Kind to the Loved Ones at Home."

O brother, be faithful! soon Jesus will come, For whom we have waited so long; Oh! soon we shall enter our glorious home, And join in the conqueror's song.

O brother, be faithful! for why should we prove Unfaithful to him who has shown Such deep, such unbounded and infinite love-- Who died to redeem us his own.

O brother, be faithful! the city of gold, Prepared for the good and the blest, Is waiting its portals of pearl to unfold, And welcome thee into thy rest; Then brother, prove faithful! not long shall we stay, In weariness here and forlorn; Time's dark night of sorrow is wearing away, We haste to the glorious morn.

O brother, be faithful! He soon will descend, Creation's Omnipotent King, While legions of angels his chariot attend, And palm-wreaths of victory bring.

O brother, be faithful! and soon thou shalt hear Thy Saviour p.r.o.nounce the glad word, Well done, faithful servant, thy t.i.tle is clear To enter the joy of thy Lord.

O brother, be faithful! eternity's years Shall tell for thy faithfulness now, When bright smiles of gladness shall scatter thy tears, And a coronet gleam on thy brow.

O brother, be faithful! the promise is sure, That waits for the faithful and tried; To reign with the ransomed, immortal and pure, And ever with Jesus abide.

Lines

To J. T. and M. T. Lane, on the death of their little Child, Francis M. Lane, July 25, 1858.

Still reigns the tyrant Death in sable power; Sorrow and mourning wait at his command; For tender bud as well as blooming flower, Fades 'neath the touch of his relentless hand.

And hath his summons to your hearts been spoken?

Hath his dark shadow crossed your threshold o'er?

Hath he links of fond affection broken, And borne a loved one from this mortal sh.o.r.e?

So hath a floweret from your pathway faded; A bright star shining o'er you set in gloom; Bright rays of hope are from your vision shaded By the dark curtain of the silent tomb.

'Tis well to weep: stay not the bitter tears If thus the burdened heart may find relief; For this dark earth hath been six thousand years A vale of woe, a charnel-house of grief.

Know then that here where dearest forms have perished, There's nothing true on which our love to shed; Not where death reigns can hopes of bliss be cherished, Which may not wither 'neath his icy tread.

But ah! there is land whose sh.o.r.es are nearing; The ills of earth its soil shall never bear; Of that bright world there stands this promise cheering: Death finds no entrance--pain no victims there.

To that fair land be now your footsteps tending; Fix heart and treasure on that blissful sh.o.r.e, Where friends shall re-unite in joy unending, Nor taste the pangs of separation more.

Pa.s.sed Away.

Pa.s.sed away from earth forever, Free from all its cares and fears, She again will join us never While we tread this vale of tears; For the turf is now her pillow, And she sleeps among the dead; While the cypress and the willow Wave above her lowly bed.

There she slumbers, calmly slumbers, With the silent, peaceful dead.

With what grief and anguish riven, Should we see the loved depart, If there were no promise given, Which could soothe the wounded heart!

If the chains with which death binds them, Ne'er again should broken be; And his prison which confines them, Ne'er be burst to set them free; If forever there to leave them, Were our hopeless destiny.

But a glorious day is nearing, Earth's long-wished-for jubilee; When creation's King appearing, Shall proclaim his people free; When upborne on Love's bright pinion, They shall shout from land and sea, Death! where is thy dark dominion!

Grave! where is thy victory!

Then we'll meet her, gladly meet her, Where we'll never parted be.

Ode.

Written for the anniversary exercises of the Golden Branch Society of Phillips' Exeter Academy, June, 1850.

Borne on in the swift course of time, The hour again is here, Which calls from us a sad adieu, And swells the parting tear.

We'd fain the golden hours prolong, Which have so quickly past; We'd fain delay the farewell song, And bid our union last.

But tho' we grieve that some so soon Must leave our social band, We would not have you linger here, 'Gainst duty's high demand.

But, rather, we would bid you forth Into the field of life, To battle for immortal names, Like heroes in the strife.

Advance, then, in the grand career, So n.o.bly here begun; Aim to accomplish life's great end, Until life's course is run.

May fortune smile upon your path, And all your efforts bless; And may her arm be ever near To crown you with success.

And, as you tread your onward course, May virtue guide your way; And wreath of fame adorn your brow, Which ne'er shall fade away, "Excelsior" will lead you on To posts of honor high.

And call to mind our "holy bond,"

Of "Friendship's Sacred Tie."

And may you prove, while on you press With banner wide unfurled, An honor to your native land, A blessing to the world.

And when at last, life's work is done, This recompense you'll have, The true and lasting fame that waits The Great, the Good, the Brave.

Ode.

Written for the anniversary exercises of the Golden Branch Society of Phillips' Exeter Academy, June, 1851.

We've met again within these halls-- These halls to mem'ry dear, Where scenes of harmony and peace Have filled the by-gone year.

But e'en while recollections fond Still cling around the heart, One bitter thought disturbs our joy: For we have met to part.

Full well we know, our path through life Can ne'er be always bright; The sweetest hours to mortals given Are swiftest in their flight.

Then let us follow duty's call, With calm, undaunted brow, Nor weakly chide the stern behest, Which separates us now.

Ye whom this consecrated spot Still sheds its blessings o'er, Use well the moments as they pa.s.s, For they return no more.

Here you must gird your armor on, Survey the field of life, And then go forth to earn a name, Or perish in the strife.

Great men have been before us here, Whose fame the wide world knows; _Excelsior_ still shines for us-- The star by which they rose.

They're shedding now a mighty spell On all the paths we tread; On living brows bloom laurel wreaths, While cypress mourns the dead.