BUILDING ON SAND by S. J. G. Thayer

Seventh-Day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · March 11, 1880

FromThe Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, Vol. 55, No. 11

BUILDING ON SAND.

By S. J. G. Thayer

BY MRS. S. J. G. THAYER.

Oh! there are those we meet on every hand With hopes both fair and high, yet built on sand; Safe, too, they feel, they fear no coming shock; The drifting sand is sure to them as rock. If you suppose a case of inundation, And call attention to their poor foundation, They only laugh, and talk of superstition; To look at self they have no disposition. O Father, ’tis for these we humbly pray, For these our hearts are burdened day by day. As suppliants at thy throne, dear Lord, we kneel, Put forth thy hand, and touch these hearts of steel; Light more than mid-day sun, oh, let them see, That they, like Paul, may trembling turn to thee; Roll back the tide of evil closing round, And break the chains by which their reason’s bound, That they may choose the only sure foundation, Nor trust to sand, in wildest aberration.

There is a mighty Rock, secure and fast; Unchanged, unmoved, it’s stood for ages past; The tide, and tempest, roaring wind, and rain Combined have spent their forces but in vain. The world’s Redeemer in this Rock we see With arms extended, calling, “Come to me.” And still to-day he’s calling; who will come? Within his sheltering arms there yet is room.

Oh, perishing and blinded—heedless throng— Who have no fear of danger, rushing on, Pause for a moment; see on what you stand;— Eternity’s at stake;—Oh! is it sand? Have you no fear the coming storm to meet, With only sand on which to rest your feet? Full well I know the peace-and-safety cry All through the world has sounded, long and high; Both great and small united swell the strain, And rich and poor take up the glad refrain. Ah, yes! I hear this lulling, siren song, And know that sure destruction waits not long. And, oh! what cry of anguish do I hear? What bitter wailings fall upon my ear?

The dying miser mourned when, at the last, He saw his misspent life all in the past; And now he stood, his feet upon the brink Of death’s dark stream, himself about to sink. “Millions of money,” was his eager cry, “Just for one moment’s time before I die.” ’Twas vain; he steeled his heart and closed his ear To Mercy’s call, while Mercy lingered near, And hopeless now he has to meet his fate, And cry for Mercy when it is too late. Oh! wild and piercing then the cry must be Echoed by millions, when the Lord they see; They scorned the warning message to them sent, And now no time is given to repent. Too late, too late; the autumn winds have come, The summer past, the harvest gathered home; Oh! then will come the anguish, and the call That rocks and mountains may upon them fall.

Now please to go with me to Noah’s day, When all the flood-gates of the deep gave way. Over a hundred years did Noah cry, “Come to the ark; for oh! why will ye die?” And did the mass receive his message? No; Only a few into the ark would go. Only a few upon the Rock did stand; The multitude were built upon the sand; No fear of danger checked their social glee, The festive chorus rang out wild and free. No doubt they thought that Noah was inclined To be fanatical; and that his mind Was not well balanced,—really could not be, Since he was given to such insanity. But hark! what muttering sound comes from afar, Like the low rumbling of the distant car? And soon, amid the thunder’s fearful roar And lightning’s vivid flash, the rain did pour; And still it comes! They climb the rocks in vain, In vain the highest mountains they attain; And oh! when on that shoreless ocean cast, In vain, too, their relentings for the past, Think you no cry of anguish rent the air? No pleading tones? no wailings of despair? Ah! fearful was that time, cheerless and dark, For all but those few sailing in the ark; Obeying God, they stem the raging main; Insanity? Then let me be insane. The storm is past; and now the faithful bow Tells us no more shall waters overflow.

Changed is the scene; the rolling wheel of Time Brings us to see the close of ’79. Prosperity, and wealth, and numbers, too, With rapid onward march reveal to view A world of cities, plains, and fertile vales, With rushing cars, and gentle flowing sails, Commerce and agriculture standing high, And art and science towering to the sky; Thousands of church spires in the sunlight gleam, And education is a boasted theme; Inventions crowd each other, great and small, And this an age of wonders we may call. And yet, despite improvement and progression, Each year does crime increase in every nation; The midnight robber and assassin bold Is ever watching for revenge or gold; And wickedness, of every shade and dye, We find alike among the low and high. Each year the spirit power still grows more strong; We’re told “What is, is right; there is no wrong.” While wars, commotions, pestilence, and dearth, Revolting scenes, and misery fill the earth, Where is the church’s power this tide to stay? Where are the tokens of a brighter day? The church, alas! ’t is wedded to the world, In the same round of pleasure it is whirled; Professing godliness without its power, It stands like Samson in earth’s darkest hour, Bereft of strength. They worship God in vain Who teach for doctrines the commands of men. We should learn wisdom from the bitter past; And when we’re told it shall be at the last Just as before the coming of the flood, Then should the honest-hearted seek their God. Nor is this all; but unto us are given Signs in the earth beneath—above in heaven; Each one without excuse, and speechless, too, Will take his place, in this world’s grand review.

And more: not willing any lost should be, Jehovah sends a call from sea to sea; And now again is sounding, full and clear, “Come to the ark! there’s safety only here.” ’Tis not a wooden structure, as of old, But mansions built on high, with streets of gold. No sun is needed there, or moon by night; For of that city fair, God is the light. “Come to the ark!” Reader, will you not come? Within those spacious halls there yet is room. No flood is coming now, no waters deep, But burning flames o’er every part will leap. Oh! if you want a shelter in that day, Come now; accept of Christ; God’s law obey; The coming time will show on what we stand,— If on the Rock eternal, or on sand.

Buckland, Mass.