A Lesson From the Roman Army
The morning appears on the distant hills,
A white fog curls up from the little rills,
And nothing is heard in the Roman camp,
Save the sleepers’ snore and the sentries’ tramp;
But hark! that sound, shrill, loud and clear,
As the trumpet’s notes fall on each sleeper’s ear.
From end to end of the camp resounds,
And away to the echoing hills rebounds;
A change now breaks on that quiet scene,
Bustle and life where rest had been,
As warriors step forth in their armor bright,
And greet the first rays of the dawning light.
The horses are saddled, the baggage is packed,
The tents are struck, and the tent poles stacked,
And cavalry, infantry, horses and men
Are ready, and waiting the march to begin;
But hark! again the trumpet’s din,
The camp is fired, and the ranks fall in.
And now they await, in unbroken array,
The trumpet’s loud peal, the third time that day,
’Tis heard; the third, the LAST great trump;
Ere its notes die away or its echoes die out,
A voice is heard; it demands, Are YOU ready?
In loud, cheerful tones they reply, We ARE ready.
But the time is coming, it hastens along,
It might be here ere tomorrow’s sun,
When the Lord Himself, with His heavenly shout
With archangel’s voice and the trumpet’s note,
Shall summon His saints to Himself in the air;
My reader or hearer, will you be there?
For that trumpet call can only be heard
By those who have known and received Him as Lord,
By those who have found that by simple faith,
In His precious blood poured out at His death,
That their SINS ARE FORGIVEN, their guilt put away,
Turned from darkness to light, made children of day.
“At the last trump” (for the trumpet shall sound,
And from end to end of the world rebound),
And the dead in Christ shall first rise, and we
Who are alive and remain on the earth shall be
Caught up together with them in the air.
My reader or hearer, will YOU be there?
C. Ε. T.