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The Last Trumpet

The last great trump is sounding, and how near

The time of shewing wonders to the dead,

And we the living shall with them appear

Before the judgment seat of Christ. Shall dread

Of endless banishment from light, and life,

Our bosoms fill with anguish and despair?

Or sweet assurance that the surging strife

Shall cease, and we approved, the kingdom share?

Oh! lift up holy hands in earnest prayer,

Each for the other. Strengthen those

In love who need, and for the erring, care.

Your secret work your Heavenly Father knows.

Spend and be spent, a living sacrifice;

Service of love is sweet, reward is sure.

With willing minds and life’s best energies

Walk in the light, and keep the garments pure.

Louder, and clearer swells the clarion voice,

The mystery soon will finish now;

Lift up your heads ye holy ones, rejoice,

Unfading honours wait the victor’s brow.

Press forward, brethren, sisters, lay aside

All weight; run well, lest weary in the race

We lose our aim, and fall. The prize denied,

We turn away in shame from Jesus’ face.

W. F. R.

(from The Christadelphian, June, 1917)