Classic Poem

Rise up, rise up, O Rahab,
And bind the scarlet thread
On the casement of thy chamber,
When the battle waxeth red.
From the double feast of Gilgal,
From Jordan's cloven wave,
They come with sound of trumpet,
With banner and with glaive.

Death to the foes of Israel!
But joy to thee, and thine,
To her who saved the spies of God,
Who shows the scarlet line!

'Twas in the time of harvest,
When the corn lay on the earth,
That first she bound the signal
And bade the spies go forth.

For a cry came to her spirit
From the far Egyptian coasts,
And a dread was in her bosom
Of the Mighty Lord of Hosts.

And the faith of saints and martyrs
Lay brave at her heart's core,
As some inward pulse were throbbing
Of the kingly line she bore.

As there comes a sudden fragrance
In the last long winter's day,
From the paly silken primrose
Or the violet by the way.

And we pause, and look around us,
And we feel through every vein
That the tender spring is coming
And the summer's rosy reign.

In the twilight of our childhood,
When youth's shadows lie before,
There come thoughts into our bosoms
Like the spies to Rahab's door.

And we scarcely know their value,
Or their power for good or ill,
But we feel they are God's angels,
And they seek us at His will.

And we tremble at their presence,
And we blush to let them forth,
In some word of tender feeling,
Or some deed of Christian worth.

Yet these guests perchance may witness
In that awful battle day,
When the foe is on the threshold,
And the gates of life give way;

When the soul that seeks for safety,
Shall behold but one red sign—
But the blood drops of Atonement
On the cross of Love Divine!