Poem January 18, 1908 Issue

"CHRIST IN YOU THE HOPE OF GLORY"

God's spirit falls on me as dewdrops on the rose,
If I but like a rose my heart to Him unclose.
The soul wherein God dwells—What church can holier be?
Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.
Lo, in the silent night a child to God is born,
And all is brought again that ere was lost or lorn.
Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent night,
God would be born in thee, and set all things aright.
Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord His name to ye;
I feel him but as Love, and Love His name with me.
How far from here to heaven? Not very far, my friend.
A single hearty step will all thy journey end.
Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,
If he's not born in thee, thy soul is all forlorn.
The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul,
The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.
Christ rose not from the dead, Christ still is in the grave
If those for whom he died are still of sin the slave.
Hold there; where runnest thou? Know heaven is in thee;
Seekest thou for God elsewhere, His face thou'lt never see.
In all eternity no tone can be so sweet
As where man's heart with God in unison doth beat.
What'er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must:
God, if thou lovest God; dust, if thou lovest dust.
Ah, would the heart but be a manger for the birth,
God would once more become a child on earth.
Immeasurable is the Highest; who but knows it?
And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.