The Advent Preacher

“ THE time draws near!”
The wayside mowers gathering in the hay,
Surprised an unfamiliar voice to hear,
Looked up. A man, with restless eyes and gray,
Long beard, was standing just without the fence.
“ The time draws near ! ” he cried. “ Depart from hence ! ”
“What time?” said they.
“What time? The end of time; God’s judgment-day.

“You cut the grass,—
Erelong you ’ll be the harvest in your turn ;
The reaping angels through the world will pass,
To gather souls to garner or to burn;
Before the last load from your fields you bear,
The Lord will come with shouting through the air !
Amen ! Amen !
Let saints rejoice, though sinners perish there.

“ Short time to rest
Have the cold sleepers in yon burying-ground ;
You will not see the sunlight in the west
Fade seven times, ere Gabriel’s trump shall sound,
And all the dead, both small and great, shall rise,
To see, slow mounting through the shaken skies,
A moon of blood ;
And fire shall cover earth as with a flood.

“ How will they look,
Your lands and houses, through those hot, fierce flames,
By whose red light, from out his open book.
The Lord will read the blood-recorded names
Of those, his Son’s elect, the chosen few,
Who’ve kept their robes white ? Ah, poor souls ! will you
Find your names there ?
Put by your useless toil; short space have you for prayer !

“ The time draws near !
I’ve warned you to repent; if you delay,
You are my witnesses ; my skirts are clear.”
The prophet shook his head, and went his way
Along the road, and, as he went, he cried,
“ Come quickly, Lord! Amen ! “ On every side,
From wood and glen,
The echoes made reply: “Amen! amen!”