LET US GO FORTH.—Heb. 13:13 .
Silent, like men in solemn haste,
Girded wayfarers of the waste,
We pass out at the world's wide gate,
Turning our back on all its state;
We press along the narrow road
That leads to life, to bliss, to God.
We cannot, and we would not stay;
We dread the snares that throng the way,
We fling aside the weight and sin,
Resolved the victory to win;
We know the peril, but our eyes
Rest on the splendor of the prize.
No idling now, no wasteful sleep,
From Christian toil our limbs to keep;
No shrinking from the desperate fight,
No thought of yielding or of flight;
No love of present gain or ease;
No seeking man or self to please.
No sigh for laughter left behind,
Or pleasures scattered to the wind;
No looking back on Sodom's plains;
No listening still to Babel's strains;
No tears for Egypt's song and smile;
No thirsting for its flowing Nile;
What, though with weariness oppressed—
'Tis but a little, and we rest.
This throbbing heart and burning brain
Will soon be calm and cool again.
Night is far spent, and morn is near,—
Morn of the cloudless and the clear.
'Tis but a little, and we come
To our reward, our crown, our home;
A little space—yet more or less,
And we have crossed the wilderness,
Finished the toil, the rest begun,
The battle fought, the triumph won!