The pilgrims of our former years,
They gave their sweat, their blood, their tears.
They fought with foes and battled fears,
To hasten Christ’s return.
They’d work and watch and wait for God.
They did not strive for earthly sod.
They died upon the path they trod—
A better place to earn.
The day of truth is soon at hand,
When we shall meet the sleeping band.
And will our feeble efforts stand,
Compared against their zeal?
They strove for truth and righteousness.
They lived to learn, to grow, to bless.
They gave their all. Shall we give less—
Or follow how we feel?
They sleep–they wait for me and you.
They wait, and we have work to do.
What reasons can we offer to
Explain the long delay?
Forbid it that our hearts should fail,
That when we meet their faces pale
Our speeches die; our voices quail,
And we have nought to say.
– Aneta Reuter, January 2003
