A Message Of Love

A Message Of Love

I am only a little poem,
Five minutes will read me through,
But I come in the name of Jesus
With a message of love to you.
You may not see how you can spare the time
My few short lines to trace;
But if never again till the judgment-day,
There I'll meet you face to face.

As on life's rapid transit line
You are nearing some fancied goal,
Have you ever stopped to soliloquize
About your immortal soul?
Do you know that somewhere your journey will end?
Does your conscience ever tell
That when time shall end, your endless life
Is to be spent in heaven or hell?

Do you know when your life of sin is done
And you before God are posed,
That your being will tremble with dreadful awe
With all of your wrongs disclosed?
And then while you wait your just reward,
With all opportunities past,
You will look to the prize which might have been yours,
And say, "I have missed it at last!"

Then, what are you doing to save your soul?
Is your life too busy to spare
From your pleasures and toil and greed for gain
One moment a day in prayer?
Do you know that the perishing things of life,
Which you selfishly call your own,
Will not attract your attention much
When you stand at the judgment-throne?

Will you toil and struggle from day to day.
Till you draw your latest breath,
And never consider the awful change
That will come to you in your death?
Will you strive for knowledge or worldly fame,
No matter how much they cost,
Yet in the end, with all you know,
Be foolish enough to be lost?

Do you know that except you repent of your sins
And have every one forgiven,
And walk in holiness here below,
You can never enter heaven?
A mere profession or joining some church
Will not meet the demands of your soul,
But Christ alone through his precious blood
Can cleanse and keep you whole.

They tell us the world has better grown,
And we live in a Christian land,
And churches to suit most any one's taste
Are found on every hand;
But when we behold the discord and fuss
That exists among those who profess,
We conclude that something is out of fix
With their so-called righteousness.

The inundation of worldly schemes
And of clerical opulence
Have smothered out the fires of truth
And of spiritual innocence.
The days of shouting and prayer and praise,
With many, are things of the past,
And God only knows what is yet to come
Ere we hear the trumpet's blast.

Joy and singing and Christian love
Were our fathers' happy lot;
Now with salaried preachers and rented pews
They worship they know not what.
Once hymns were sung from peaceful hearts,
Now by choirs of modern lore;
While the voice of the bride and bridegroom
Are heard in their chamber no more.

Yet standing aloof from this clashing of creeds
Are a people who dare to be true,
And carry out the commands of God
Just as he told them to.
They join no church that man has made,
But follow the highway trod
By the prophets, apostles, and Christ, their head,
And belong to the church of God.

The dazzling gifts of the early church
Are ours by right today;
No man can truly say that one
Was ever done away.
The blood of Christ does still atone
And every need supplies;
It heals our bodies when they are sick;
It saves and sanctifies.