SELECTED POETRY.

Cromwell Argus, Volume I, Issue 42, 31 August 1870, Page 6

SELECTED POETRY.

THE INFIDEL’S TEST. . “Father,” said the expiring daughter of an infidel, “ 1 fool that my end is drawing near, lell me, I entreat you, am 1 to believe wiut you have taught me, or what [ have learnt from my mother V— “ Believe, my child,” he replied, after a severe struggle with his feelings, “ nrhat your mother taught you.” Stretched on the bed of death his daughter lay : Her hours are told—she cannot live the day ; She knew his voice, unclosed her sunken eyes, And gazed upon him with a dread surprise. Her looks expressed perplexity and fear : Father, she cried. He instantly drew near, Laid tenderly her head upon his breast, Kissed her wan eyelids, and his daughter blest. “ Father,” she cried once more, “ Death drawoth nigh; Is there a God ?—is there futurity ? My mother told me there was; but thou—oh, thou ! Declar st it folly at his shrine to bow. At such an awful hour do not deceive : Is there a God ? What must thy child believe ? Speak, 1 abjure thee, ere it be too late ! When taken hence, what is to be my fate ? 1 feel there is, when this worn spirit’s Heel, A God to judge, eternity to dread. Oh! did my mother teach the truth ?” She did ! ” Trembled his lip, and quail’d his quiv’ring lid. Mighty the struggle in the scorner’s heart; Yet, could he let his cherished one depart Impressed with doubt ?—the doubt that made him, too. Question if what he had instilled were true ! Eo, no ! he dares not !—demons prompt in vain. Oh ! his humiliation, anguish, pain, As he confessed to that expiring child “ When he disowned his God he basely lied I” He felt her shudder, for he clasped her yet; And her last look he never can forget. Oh ! it is easy, round the festive board, With boon companions to deny the Lord, Turning his threatened judgment to a jest, (Blasphemy lending wit a keener zest); Holding eternity a thing of nought, Nor siok’ning at annihilations’* thought. But when the lips of death make the appeal, How awful the conviction we then feel! Is there a God ?” The soul appall’d replies, There is a God—a God who never dies. Who, save a God, created all we see ! Who gave existence, thankless man, to thee ? Oh ! turn to him, with penitence, in time ; Implore his pardon for each wilful crime. Lo 1 he invites thee to partake his love ; Lo ! he invites thee to that bliss above. Scorn not the offer— “ Oh ! repent and live He as a father panteth to forgive ; They who die in their sins no joy afford To the most merciful, most gracious Lord.