Poems (Shipton)/The Rest Bell

by Anna Shipton

THE REST-BELL.

"We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed."—i Cor. xv. 51.
"Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off."—Isaiah xxxiii. 17.

[In many parts of Switzerland, particularly in Savoy, a bell from the principal tower calls the people to rest at noon. Five minutes before the hour strikes, the welcome rest-bell sounds sweetly on the ear. The laborer in the harvest-field throws down his sickle. The song and jest cease in the vineyard; and soon beneath the shadow of the chestnut and maple, you learn that the sleep of the laboring man is sweet. It was in one of these golden harvest-days, as I listened to the bell swelling over the smiling plains of Savoy, that a beloved friend fell asleep in Jesus—to use her own words, she had been called to rest by a message from the Throne.]

Hark! I hear the Rest-Bell ringing!
 To my ear it seems to be
Thy dear voice, my Heavenly Master:
 "Come apart, and rest with Me!"

They who bear the heat and burden
 Know the daily summons well;
O'er the woodland vale and mountain
 Sweetly sounds the noontide bell.

Now, their toil and travail leaving,
 Many a weary head is laid
'Neath the vineyard's leafy bower,
 Or the chestnut's sheltering shade.

Busy hands are idly folded,
 Slumber seems to seal each breath,
And the laborer's song is silent—
 (Sleep! thou art akin to death.)

They will wait, and rest, and waken,
 Where each listless form hath lain:
When the Master's voice arouse them,
 They will hear and rise again.

Myriad host of unseen watchers
 O'er their rest a guard shall keep,
Lest the enemy assail them
 In their deep and quiet sleep.

All along life's desert journey,
 Marked by mingled joy and woe,
Softly as the summer lightning
 Holy angels come and go.

Gently guiding wandering children
 To their own appointed place;
Watching where the dust lies sleeping
 Of each cherished heir of grace.

There the toil-worn garments folded,
 Till they roll away the stone,
And the shout proclaims for ever
 Christ's blessed message from the Throne.

In the heat of noontide labor
 Come apart and rest with Him;
Sinking heart, renew thy courage,
 And repose the weary limb.

Share with Him your joys and sorrows,
 All your fears, or labor vain;
Sin hath soiled the trailing garment,
 Let Him gird you once again.

Lay your inmost thoughts before Him,
 As your faithless fears arise,
Besting 'neath the pleasant shadow
 Of the tree of Paradise.

Ah, than noontide bell more welcome,
 Is the Master's tender smile,
And His voice o'er Bether's mountains:"
 Come apart, and rest awhile."

Through the listless days of sickness,
 Praise oft broken by the moan,
Loving hearts have learned to listen
 For a message from the Throne.
······
Lo! one stands by death's dark portal
 All alone! Nay, not "alone,"
For the Friend whose arm upholds her
 Is the True and Faithful One.

Not a sound disturbs the silence;
 None beside hath heard the words,
Or the listening soul's responses,
 Echoing from its thrilling chords.

God is true, who gave the promise;
 God, who ne'er forsakes his own,
Sendeth to her waiting spirit
 Love's last message from the Throne.

Angel cohorts fence the valley,
 As upon their charge they wait;
Hush their songs to hear her praises
 Floating through the pearly gate.

Hark! the Rest-Bell sweet and solemn:
 "Now thy noontide work is done;
Come and rest with Me for ever!"—
 Christ's last message from the Throne.