February 4Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues — Rev. 18:4.
Whoever are worthy the name, "My people," will hear and obey the Lord's voice and come out of Babylon and "receive not of her plagues"; because their obedience in fleeing out as soon as they see Babylon's real condition will prove that they were never in real accord with her sins. Those who remain after seeing Babylon and her blasphemous doctrines in the light now shining are reckoned as endorsing the blasphemies and deserving the "plagues" most thoroughly—as much as or more than the "tare" class of Babylonians, because they have greater light—Z '00, 3 (R 2553). Where have God's people been but in the various sects of Christendom, and where has more light been sinned against than in these sects, and upon what will God's plagues come with more severity than upon these sects? Therefore, how reasonable that God should save His people from being contaminated with their sins and make them immune from their plagues by inviting them to leave Babylon? In a secondary sense this passage well applies to the Lord's people coming out of the sects of Little Babylon—P '32, 15. Parallel passages: Isa. 47:10; 48:20; 52:11; Jer. 50:8; 51:6, 9; 2 Cor. 6:17; 7:1; Zech. 2:7; Gen. 19:16, 17, 29; Luke 17:32; Matt. 24:15-20; Jude 1:23; Num. 16:21; Rev. 16:19; 18:1-24. Hymns: 332, 18, 25, 41, 216, 310, 333. Poems of Dawn, 128: Let Us Go Forth. Tower Reading: Z '14, 179 (R 5478). Questions: Have we "come out of her" locally, sympathetically, doctrinally, practically and spiritually? Why? With what results? |
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LET US GO FORTH
HEBREWS 13:13.
SILENT, like men in solemn haste,
Girded wayfarers of the waste,
We pass out at the world's wide gate,
Turning our back on all its state;
We press along the narrow road
That leads to life, to bliss, to God.
We cannot and we would not stay;
We dread the snares that throng the way;
We fling aside the weight and sin,
Resolved the victory to win;
We know the peril, but our eyes
Rest on the splendor of the prize.
What though with weariness oppressed?
'Tis but a little and we rest.
This throbbing heart and burning brain
Will soon be calm and cool again,
Night is far spent and morn is near—
Morn of the cloudless and the clear.
No idling now, no slothful sleep,
From Christian toil our pow'rs to keep;
No shrinking from the desperate fight,
No thought of yielding or of flight;
No love of present gain or ease,
No seeking man or self to please.
No sorrow for the loss of fame,
No dread of scandal on our name;
No terror for the world's sharp scorn,
No wish that taunting to return;
No hatred can to hatred move
The soul that's filled with pitying love.
No sigh for laughter left behind,
Or pleasures scattered to the wind;
No looking back on Sodom's plains,
No listening still to Babel's strains;
No tears for Egypt's song and smile,
No thirsting for its flowing Nile.
'Tis but a little and we come
To our reward, our crown, our home!
Another year, or more, or less,
And we have crossed the wilderness;
Finished the toil, the rest begun,
The battle fought, the triumph won!
We grudge not, then, the toil, the way;
Its ending is the endless day!
We shrink not from these tempests keen,
With little of the calm between;
We welcome each descending sun;
Ere morn our joy may be begun!
HEBREWS 13:13.
SILENT, like men in solemn haste,
Girded wayfarers of the waste,
We pass out at the world's wide gate,
Turning our back on all its state;
We press along the narrow road
That leads to life, to bliss, to God.
We cannot and we would not stay;
We dread the snares that throng the way;
We fling aside the weight and sin,
Resolved the victory to win;
We know the peril, but our eyes
Rest on the splendor of the prize.
What though with weariness oppressed?
'Tis but a little and we rest.
This throbbing heart and burning brain
Will soon be calm and cool again,
Night is far spent and morn is near—
Morn of the cloudless and the clear.
No idling now, no slothful sleep,
From Christian toil our pow'rs to keep;
No shrinking from the desperate fight,
No thought of yielding or of flight;
No love of present gain or ease,
No seeking man or self to please.
No sorrow for the loss of fame,
No dread of scandal on our name;
No terror for the world's sharp scorn,
No wish that taunting to return;
No hatred can to hatred move
The soul that's filled with pitying love.
No sigh for laughter left behind,
Or pleasures scattered to the wind;
No looking back on Sodom's plains,
No listening still to Babel's strains;
No tears for Egypt's song and smile,
No thirsting for its flowing Nile.
'Tis but a little and we come
To our reward, our crown, our home!
Another year, or more, or less,
And we have crossed the wilderness;
Finished the toil, the rest begun,
The battle fought, the triumph won!
We grudge not, then, the toil, the way;
Its ending is the endless day!
We shrink not from these tempests keen,
With little of the calm between;
We welcome each descending sun;
Ere morn our joy may be begun!
