Poem October 12, 1935 Issue

The Beautiful Gate

MARION ALICE BOWERS

One built a temple for the Lord, his God,
Of polished stone and cedar, gem-inlaid.
'Twas thronged with worshipers of high and low degree
Who came through many gates, and bowed their heads in prayer
Within that house so beautiful.
'Twas beautiful, indeed, the cunning work
Expressing all the dream of him who built,
Yet knew that God dwells not
In temples made with hands.
The years had passed and on the site
Another temple stood and called to prayer,
And, in the gate called Beautiful,
The stones were worn with many passing feet,
But there was one whose feet were impotent,
Who sat and begged without the house of prayer,
And ever cried upon the worshipers
For alms to meet his dire necessity.
But in his heart there slept a deeper need,
The need to know himself the child of God,
The need to enter in that holy place,
Active and free and in the joy of God;
And waking, it touched the Christly robe
And drew resources of omnipotence,
As to the followers of Jesus came the call,
Asking an alms. So Peter turned
And saw that clamant need, and gave
Of that he had from Love divine, which meets
All human need!
Oh, beautiful that entry to the temple,
The consciousness of ever-living good;
And beautiful the joy of him who entered,
Walking and leaping in the praise of God.
But oh, most beautiful that love that, self-effacing,
Can turn and gather in the brother man,
Waiting, expectant of the Christly healing;
With open hands receiving and still giving,
So entering the temple, blessed and blessing
At the gate called Beautiful.

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