1. How cheered the sons of Noah were,
While they were building Babel,
And shouts rang out upon the air,
Because that they were able
To build and climb on brick-work frame,
That years to come might read their name.
2. What disappointment sad they see,
As they confounded were!
And groans, instead of joyous glee,
Now rang upon the air!
For, how to speak, they had forgot—
Filled with dismay, they left the spot.
3. And now the men of modern days
Are building up their Babel;
And shouts of joy and songs of praise
Ring o’er the Atlantic Cable.
But soon the elements with heat
Will melt, and all their plans defeat.
4. They’ve chained the lightning in its course,
They’ve bottled up the steam;
And now, behold, the iron horse
Becomes an agile team.
With lightning speed the chariots run,
While man exclaims, “See what I’ve done!”
5. How little do they realize
The “preparation day!”
That all these signs, before their eyes,
Speak, Christ is on his way!
Soon he will come to try their works,
And give to each their just deserts.
6. But this is not the only tower
That’s built on Shinar’s plain—
I hear the workmen from their bower,
I turn and look again.
They’re singing loud of God and heaven,
And telling of their sins forgiven.
7. But how they tug and toil to lay
A platform of their own!
For that “old law” has passed away
Jehovah wrote on stone.
They think they see a flaw therein,
And now to keep it would be sin!
8. Again, for them to wait so long
For Jesus to return,
It seems is altogether wrong—
A shorter way they learn:
Death is the gate to endless joy,
Which leads to bliss without alloy.
9. Since they have found a shorter way
To gain their fancied rest,
They can defer the judgment day,
And so they think it best.
For why the judgment of the Lord,
Since each at death receives reward?
10. And now they sing the siren song,
The earth will long remain;
And thousand thousand years roll on,
Ere Christ will come again.
He’ll not come yet, is all the talk,
And those that look for him they mock.
11. But soon this man-made tower must fall;
It’s built upon the sand;
Untempered mortar’s in the wall—
We know it cannot stand.
Alas the crash! it must be great,
For it decides the builders’ fate.
12. O, would they hasten to be wise,
And cease at once to build:
And lift their hearts, their hands, their eyes,
To Zion’s holy hill;
Where Jesus pleads his precious blood,
And thus escape the avenging rod.
– Cornelia Rice (published in an early Advent Review)
