[Written for the Sentinel]

Patmos

THE day I faced toward my Father's house
I turned away from mortal blandishments,
And after each day's travel pitched my tents
Toward Patmos.

This is the journey's long itinerary:
Here a friend left me; there a hope turned dust;
Here I lost treasure I had learned to trust;
I parted daily from pleasure, for I must
Reach Patmos.

Not willingly I trod the thorny road;
The strong impulsion was not from within;
It was a Voice that cried above the din
Of this poor heart's desire, bidding me win
To Patmos.

There is naught good or true on any hand!
I dare not look around—upward I gaze:
And now, quite close and clear, I see the blaze
Of the apocalyptic city bright with praise—
At Patmos.

Had I but lifted up my eyes, those bands
Of singing ones were with me all the way,
Waving above me benedictory hands;
There was no need to travel burning sands
To Patmos.

Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Editorial
"And he healed them all"
October 22, 1927
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit