GOLDEN JUBILEE.
207
Not with the clang of bell,
Nor throbbing beat of drum,
Nor lusty shouts that echoing rise and swell,
Your conquering legions come;
But softly, with the slow and noiseless tread,
Of Him who quelleth strife,
Who opes the gate of glory to the dead,
And bids them enter life.
Nor throbbing beat of drum,
Nor lusty shouts that echoing rise and swell,
Your conquering legions come;
But softly, with the slow and noiseless tread,
Of Him who quelleth strife,
Who opes the gate of glory to the dead,
And bids them enter life.
Yet from your gentle hands
Life's fiercest phantoms fly:
The battle-field, the plague-infested lands,
Find hope and mercy nigh!
Even from Sin's drear night
The veil of darkness lifts,
And stars of heaven, with mild, persuasive light,
Shine through the broken rifts;
While soft as summer winds that breathe and blow
Above the winter's sod,
Your message comes to frozen hearts below,
And warms them back to God.
Life's fiercest phantoms fly:
The battle-field, the plague-infested lands,
Find hope and mercy nigh!
Even from Sin's drear night
The veil of darkness lifts,
And stars of heaven, with mild, persuasive light,
Shine through the broken rifts;
While soft as summer winds that breathe and blow
Above the winter's sod,
Your message comes to frozen hearts below,
And warms them back to God.
For Mercy's work no creed
Confines your earnest will,—
Confines your earnest will,—
