Heralds by EUGENE ROWELL

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D.C. · Feb 25, 1915

Heralds

By EUGENE ROWELL

EUGENE ROWELL

THERE’S a stir among the nations, as of leaves whirled to their doom When the blast of coming winter rushes through the mountain gloom; There’s the charge of maddened armies pressing on with frenzied shout, And the groan of shattered remnants crawling back from battle’s rout, At the blowing of the trumpet of the Lord.

Like legions of Sennacherib when, smit- ten by the breath Of the angel of destruction, heathen hosts lay blank in death, So the flower and pride of Europe lie in crimson ruin low, And her hopeful youth stare silent in a ghastly burial row, At the sounding of the trumpet call of God.

For the Ruler of the ages sends his her- alds on before, To cry through war and pestilence that time shall be no more; And the crowd and crash of armies in the battle’s mad affray Are but his threshing out of wheat and casting chaff away; And today blow loud the trumpeters of God.

Give ear, O lands; and tremble, ye in- habiters of earth! Change your comely dress to sackcloth, and to mourning change your mirth, Ere the day of wrath rush on you with the seven last great woes In the last of human conflicts with the last of human foes, And the bolts of Armageddon come from God.

Lincoln, Nebr.