Poem September 3, 1938 Issue

A Parable of the Sacrament

PRULA I. GUFFY

One day I swept the doorstone of my heart
And fanned the fire on its hearth to flame;
With patient steps the oaken table spread,
And laid thereon the bread my hands had made.
The earthen pitcher filled with water, then,
I ran to set the heavy door ajar.
For had not Christ to John's rapt sense revealed.
Behold, I stand without the door and knock.
If any man will hear my voice
And open the door,
I will come in and sup with him,
And he with me.

Now all was well prepared. At last I heard
A gentle knock, a low and loving voice.
And running joyous, opened wide the door,
To flood my heart with light like none on earth.
And so Christ Came.

Thou art the Holy Comforter, I cried,
Science divine that Jesus lived and taught.
Peace be unto this house forevermore, Christ said,
For seeking, ye have found me, even within.
Behold Love's father-motherhood;
Behold man's brother-sisterhood;
Life incorruptible, unfettered, free,
Unfolding radiant immortality.

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A Parable of the Sacrament

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