Posted on 12/17/2001 6:42:07 AM PST by wwjdn
'Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house Not a creature was praying, not one in the house. Their Bibles were lain on the shelf without care, In hopes that Jesus would not come there.
The children were dressing to crawl into bed, Not once ever kneeling or bowing a head. And Mom, in her rocker with the baby on her lap, Was watching the Late Show while I took a nap.
When out of the East there arose such a clatter, I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear But angels proclaiming that Jesus was here! With a light like a sun sending forth a bright ray, I knew in a moment this must be THE DAY!
The light of His face made me cover my head, It was Jesus returning just like he said. And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth, I cried when I saw Him, in spite of myself.
In the Book of Life, which He held in His hand, Was written the name of every saved man. He spoke not a word as He searched for my name; When He said, "It's not here" my head hung in shame.
The people whose names had been written with love He gathered to take to His Father above. With those who were ready, He arose without sound While all the rest were left standing all around.
I fell to my knees, but it was too late; I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate. I stood and I cried as they rose out of sight; Oh, if only we had been ready tonight.
In the words of this poem the meaning is clear; The coming of Jesus is drawing near. There's only one life and when comes the last call We'll find that the Bible was true after all.
Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Agean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
1867
Boy sopranos and Osmonds rose up through the air, while the Catholics and Protestants screamed, "It's not fair!"
Even the Orthodox flocks had been left; it turned out that the Mormons had made the right guess.
I am a Christian, I don't have to guess. Mormon's aren't Christian, in my humble opinion.
That's fair, because you're not a Christian, in theirs.
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