Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 4

Chief of the comforts you enjoy, What comfort now you take.

When you're deprived of these, how sad, Gloomy and desolate.

Why thus? Your nerves are all unstrung; You're almost ruined now.

Does patience have her perfect work, While thus you break each vow?

When worn with toil, how soon you seek Your coffee, rum, or tea; When trouble comes, these are your G.o.ds, To which for help you flee.

Another, all his senses gone, When giving up his quid, In irritation mourns his lot, From him all good seems hid.

The poisonous weed, the deadly drink Are eagerly pursued; So are they loved, men hardly wish Their appet.i.tes subdued.

The exhilarating influence When loved, who will forego?

The sad effects of these produce The sum of human woe.

Not we alone the sufferers are; Our friends must bear a part; The animation felt by us With them is a broken heart.

An oft untimely grave the lot, Of those thus overcome; What desolation then is felt, In their once peaceful home?

Ere vigor, health, and life are gone, Rouse every latent power; The victory gained, again you're blest, Within your own loved bower.

Heed not the tempter when he comes, And pleads once more to yield; Have you not fully yet resolved, To shun this battle-field?

Why risk the victory you have gained?

Your resolution lost This once might prove your ruin here, And life eternal cost.

Try once again, while there is hope To conquer and to live; G.o.d will, if you will let him, help, And all the past forgive.

He'll help to get the victory; And victory must be gained, Or no resolve to break the hold, Will ever be maintained.

Not victory for a single day, A week, a month, a year; But victory that will stand the test While we continue here.

A victory that will overcome Inordinate desire, To gratify perverted taste, By habit made entire.

The conflict rages fiercely on; Here victory, then defeat; But faint not, you can overcome, And make your foes retreat.

An armor for us is prepared, A helmet, sword and shield, And He who mighty is to save, Is with us on the field.

Experience can alone impart The joy of sins forgiven, Freedom in G.o.d while here below, And soon a home in Heaven.

All Trials Cease.

[A young lady pa.s.sing through great trials, accidentally met with a piece of poetry, and was greatly comforted and relieved from her sorrow by the last line, "All trials cease in Heaven, at home with G.o.d."]

Are we a.s.sured our home's in Heaven?

That all our sins are now forgiven?

Do we with all the heart believe, And G.o.d's approving smile receive?

Is every weight now laid aside?

The last besetting sin denied?

G.o.d then to us this knowledge gives: "I know that my Redeemer lives."

This consciousness must purify, And bring eternal glories nigh.

Though here we bear affliction's rod, No tears "in Heaven, at home with G.o.d."

No suffering there; "all trials cease, In Heaven at home with G.o.d," is peace.

Yea, more than this, all there unite, In sweetest anthems of delight.

There will they hallelujahs sing, In honor of their Heavenly King; Forever there, their voices raise, In songs seraphic to his praise.

This glory Jesus' word reveals; Each promise with his blood he seals.

We're sure, if here to him we come, To be in Heaven with G.o.d at home.

To Ellena Boutwell.

And is there another dear loved one for me?

May a strong cord of union now bind me to thee?

Would you call me your mother? Permit in return, That I call thee my child, and your history learn.

Pleased with your demeanor, and turn of your mind, With attractions I seem to see in thee combined; But few would take interest in one of my age, Though he might be an artist, a bard or a sage.

Though past man's alloted threescore and ten years, Though I've pa.s.sed through afflictions, in sorrow and tears, In feeling still young, and in sympathy true, I would have the world better for my pa.s.sing through.

I'm glad I have seen you; I've one more to love, On whom to ask blessings that come from above.

This friendship new-formed--may it ever increase, And we find in Jesus true heavenly peace.

To Aaron A. Smith,

On his leaving to join the Army.

For one who can fill such a place in the choir, Whose musical talents none can but admire, Who is loved and looked up to as teacher and guide, To leave for the war, will be felt far and wide.

But it is not, dear nephew, for earth's vain delight, That you leave home and friends for your country to fight; It is for the Union--our rights to maintain-- That you go where the strife piles its thousands of slain.

Good bye! G.o.d protect you; on his arm rely, There is safety for no one except from on high.

We are safe only while we in Jesus abide; He's our rule, he's our pattern, our only sure guide.