Why do the priests their trumpets blow,
And round and round the city go;
While those who bear the Ark of God
Follow the track which they have trod,
And silently a message bear
Of wrath and judgment brooding there?
Because our God is slow to wrath,
And never pours His judgments forth
Before He seeks with warning word
To make His voice in mercy heard,
Saying to souls, " Why will ye die,
And madly pass the refuge by?"
The seventh day comes—then seven times round
And after that—O solemn sound!
A shout is heard that rends the air,
And fills the sinner with despair
While down all Satan's strongholds fall,
And death becomes the lot of all!
And yet not all; for there's a spot,
Which God in grace has not forgot;
It is a house which has a sign—
Oh, look ye—'tis the scarlet line!
By God esteemed a token true,
Which must with favor meet His view,
Oh, who is she that there abides,
And in the word of grace confides,
That none her shelter shall invade,
Or make her feel of death afraid,
Because the token will be seen
By Him in whom her faith has been?
Not one who rests on her own works,
Or in whom fancied goodness lurks,
That boasts of fasting twice a week,
Of tithes being paid—and she so meek,
Comparing self to others round,
To them is far superior found.
It is a stray, a lost one found,
Whose ear had heard the far-spread sound,
The true, yet terrible report
Of what by Israel's God was wrought;
Which true report her heart believed,
When she with peace the spies received.
Rahab, a sinner much despised,
By Him whom she believes, is prized
Who owns her faith, and lets her call
In freest love her kindred all,
The shelter of her house to share,
And find escape from judgment there.
Oh, happy souls! how blest your lot
Who prove that death can touch you not;
While those who've not your token known,
Find all their hopes of life o'erthrown;
Their works, though much esteemed by men,
As " filthy rags " will all seem then.
And say, dear reader, where art thou?
Oh! know you what's the token now,
And what for you in grace divine
Now answers to the scarlet line,
To make your fears and terrors cease,
And cause your soul to rest in peace?
The Blood is now the God-giv'n sign,
The ever precious scarlet line.
The blood of Him, e'en God's own Lamb,
Himself, though man, the great I AM;
Under its shelter safe am I,
For Jesus won the victory!
And when the Lord himself descends,
And at His shout the gravestone rends'
Making that blessed secret known,
That He has come to claim His own,
With joy He'll meet them in the air,
And greet them as His loved ones there.