(Written for the Signs of the Times)

I know a city on a hill,
Some twenty miles away,
Where God reveals his saving will,
Where christians watch and pray:
A Bethel dear, a branch of Zion,
Replete with truth which saints rely on.

Her Records bear an ancient date,
In depth, e’er time began,
Nor can a creature emulate
Its more than angel plan:
In structure, standing, and foundation,
She stands on God’s Predestination.

In prospect clear, and ardent zeal,
It soars to Pisgah’s peak;
In hope and love, ’tis true as steel,
In fatih and patience, met:
Her Bulah joys and high position,
Give gospel clearness to her vision.

From thence, with eagle eye, she sees
All doctrine, true and pure,
Can understand divine decrees,
And Covenant mercies sure:
Securely fenc’d from worldly foible,
She shapes her conduct by the Bible.

Her trusty scribes, for fifty years,
To wit: Lord, Hartwell, Quint,
On all her foes, and earthly fears,
Have set a face of flint:
The last one nam’d is yet her pastor,
A faithful servant to his Master.

Her office, hearers, too, I know, Old Jacobs, sage and grave,
Whose whole demeanors go to prove
Jehovah’s power to save:
And brethren more, I soon could mention,
Are there combined for truth’s extension.

I also know some sisters there,
Benevolent and kind,
IN all those gifts of grace, so rare,
As not one whit behind:
Daughters of Israel, nursing mothers,
Who shine resplendent as the brothers.

A truer church I do not know
Upon this darken’d sphere;
And, often as I can, I go
To taste her heavenly cheer:
Nor am I ever disappointed
When there, among the Lord’s anointed.

Herself, or man, I do not praise
For all these honors great,
But God, who did his people raise
From nature’s low estate:
Yes, Him,who never sleeps nor slumbers,
Who keeps all Israel’s scattered members.

And lo! when first I saw that place,
What change from gospel dearth!
How sweet the sounds of sovereign grace,
To jarring dins of earth!
A contrast great, from scripture manglings,
College sophisms, and vulgar janglings.

An Elder Cox was holding forth,
In gospel strains the best:
The fitness, beauty, glory, worth,
Of Zion’s promis’d rest,
Coeval with the brazen mountains,
And ceaseless as its feeding fountains.

Full eight long years had o’er me gone,
And I had never found
That manna, sweet, to feed upon –
That certain “joyful sound:”
But all was laid on man’s behavior,
To mend the work of half a Savior.

At length, the time, auspicious, came;
To me a hand was sent
With viands rich, in Jesus’ name –
To me the “SIGNS” were sent:
To me they proved a precious volume,
Diffusing joy from every column.

The “SIGNS OF THE TIMES,” thought I,
How appropo the name, the “SIGNS,”
Yea, more, how beautiful the lines!
How full of heavenly flame!
It gave me better inspiration
Than would new wine’s intoxication.

It told me of a gospel fear
In this, my chosen land;
The Spirit’s work, a home, Mount Clear,
A Temple near at hand:
I cannot tell my exultation
When thus appris’d of such salvation.

The whole creation seem’d to vie
With blessings I receiv’d,
And full fruition seem’d as nigh
As when I first believ’d,
While richer far than dews of Hermon,
Were conversations, prayers and sermon.

And since that Evenezer day,
Full sixteen months have passed,
’Midst all those troubles by the way,
Which plague us till the last:
But O how grand! though worlds should hate us,
From Christ there’s naught can separate us.

Be patient then; throughout the world,
Thou “City on a Hill,”
With Old School Banners all unfurl’d,
Reflect his glory still:
The shout of victory looms before us,
When countless throngs shall swell the chorus.

Author: Martin G. Elliston
Dover, N. H., Februrary 14, 1860

Signs of the Times
Volume 28, Number 18; September 15, 1860

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.

The Poem was too long to get a song for it.

The poem is too long to convert it into a song.