FROM A POEM OF THE 12Th CENTURY, BY AN UNKNOWN AUTHOR.
(Dies ilia, Dies vita!.)
Lo, the Day — the Day of Life,
Day of unimagined light.
Day when Death itself shall die
And there shall no more be night.
Steadily that Day approacheth,
When the saints shall find their rest,
When the wicked cease from troubling,
And the patient reign most blest.
See the King desired for ages,
By the just expected long;
Long implored, at length He hasteth,
Cometh with salvation strong.
Oh, how past all utterance happy,
Sweet and joyful it will be
When they who, unseen! have loved Him,
Jesus face to face shalt see.
In that Day how good and pleasant,
This poor world to have despised!
And how mournful and how bitter
Dear that lost world to have prized!
Blessed, then, earth’s patient mourners
Who for Christ have toiled and died,
Driven by the world’s rough pressure
With Him waiting to abide!
There shall be no sighs or weeping,
Not a shade of doubt or fear,
No old age, no want or sorrow
Nothing sick or lacking there.
There the peace shall be unbroken,
Deep and solemn joy be shed,
Youth in fadeless flower and freshness
And salvation perfected.
What will be the bliss and rapture
None can dream and none can tell,
There to reign above e’en angels,
In that heavenly home to dwell.
Quickly to those realms, oh call me,
Lead mo up to that blest gate,
Thou whom, loving, looking, longing,
I, with eager hope, await.