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Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house not a creature was praying, not one in the house. Their Bibles were lain on the shelf without care in hopes that Jesus would not come there.
The children were dressing to crawl into bed. Not once ever kneeling or bowing a head.
When out of the east there arose such a clatter, I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear But angels proclaiming that Jesus was here!
The light of his face made me cover my head. It was Jesus returning just like he said. In the Book of Life, which he held in his hand, was written the name of every saved man. He spoke not a word as He searched for my name; When He said, "It's not here," my head hung in shame.
The people whose names had been written with love He gathered to take to His Father above.
I fell to my knees, but it was too late; I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate.
In the words of this poem the meaning is clear: The coming of Jesus is drawing near. |