Poem May 31, 1930 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Babylon (The Gate of God)

MARION STUART HOWE

Oh , weary ones who sit by rivers full of memories past,
Your gladness fled, your hopes seem dead, your tears are flowing fast,

Why is it that your harps are mute, on weeping willows hung?
Why is it that you cannot sing the songs you oft have sung?

No strange unfriendly land is here, His children God will keep, Be with you on the mountain top, or in the valley deep.
Your home is Zion city fair, your Father's kingdom here;
Your songs of grateful praises they will free from doubt or fear.

No yesterday in Love has been that is not now, to-day;
The thorn road must be traveled, but 'twill blossom all the way.
For Love is there before us, at the end the vision won,
And the Father's voice to greet us, My child, it is well done.

So lift your eyes and see the light, and hear the message sweet,
That bids you rise in Spirit strong, and walk with willing feet
The path that leads you Zion-wards, your home of love and peace,
And all the way make melody, with songs that never cease.

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May 31, 1930
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