Poems (Kimball)/The House of God

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

THE HOUSE OF GOD.

THE Lord's own Temple! in His Holy Name
What reverent steps its very pavements claim!
Oh, enter softly! He who here abides
From mortal eyes His form, His glory hides;
Yet all around in all these fair designs
His Name is written in mysterious lines,
And everywhere the sacred symbols speak
Of Him whom all may find who truly seek.
Here human art attains its loftiest reach,
Eternal truths to shadow forth and teach;
And beauty here in sweet constraint doth dwell,
Where every color teaches truth as well;
And even the unlettered here may learn,
Led by Devotion's hand at every turn.

These steadfast stones the "living stones" declare
Whereof is built a temple far more fair,
Whose corner-stone is Christ; whose piers unseen,
The same to-day as they have ever been,
Are Prophets and Apostles,—noble line,
The Churches firm foundations to define!
Within these wails what peace! (Christ is our Peace)
What silence reigns where earthly noises cease!
Silence wherethrough we almost hear the sound
Of angels thronging all the sacred ground.

Here at the portal pause and reverent gaze:
A holy order all the place displays.
The triple length, the triple breadth and height
Proclaim one mystery to the wondering sight,
That, scaling pillar, arch, and window fair,
Seeks the vast roof to find the One God there;
Then from that lofty height in awe descends
To mark how majesty with mercy blends;
In nave and choir and transept arms stretched wide,
Behold the symbol of the Crucified;
And in the kneeling throng, in mystery,
His Body one with Him its Head on high,
Sharing His Cross to share at last His Crown,—
The Life He won for us through life laid down.

See, many-hued and glorious the beams
Of heavenly light that on the darkness streams,
Reveals the blazoned pane, and lends a glow
To recess dim and shadowed aisle below;
An ever-shifting, never-changing flood,
To touch our every sense, our every mood;
As the sweet Gospel answers every need
And on our darkness pours the light indeed!

Here stands the Font, placed just within the door,
To say to all who pass the threshold o'er:
e who the Church of God would enter, know
One only way our Saviour Christ did show—
By holy baptism; this the lowly gate
For helpless infancy and man's estate;
For since God's grace alone can lead them in,
Wisdom and age like babes must entrance win.
Here stands the Font, and here the Heavenly Dove
Its depths to sanctify, on wings of love
Hovers unseen. Beneath this cleansing wave
Doth God regenerate whom He world save;
Through this fair tide He calleth all to pass
Into His Kingdom; this the sea of glass
Before His altar-throne that far away
Beyond the nave, the choir, in fair array,
Within the rood-screen lifts its gleaming height,
And floods the space around with sacred light,
As the White Throne and He who sits thereon
Fill Heaven with majesty above the sun.
And like the rainbow round the Throne appear
The changing colors of the Christian year
As all the holy seasons come and go,
And o'er the Altar hues symbolic throw:
Violet when mourns the Church a penitent
Through solemn fasts of Advent and of Lent,
And all the lesser vigils that she keeps
When o'er her sins for Jesus' sake she weeps;
Through Christmas-, Easter-, and Ascension-tide
And many a holy-day that falls beside,
Symbol of purity, of joy, of light,
Of victory and peace, white,—shining white;
And red for Whitsun-tide, the hue of flame,
Red for the saints who martyrs too became
While green, that tells of hope that cannot die,
Greets the exultant gaze through Trinity.
Once, only once, though all the changing year
(Save for some burial hour) doth black appear;
As Jesus bore our sins upon the Tree,
That Day the altar draped in woe we see.
Elsewhere two colors changing not abound
On frescoed walls and pictured saints surround,
The blue of heavenly truth, the burning red
of holy ardor,—these the Church have led
Through martyr fires and persecutions dread;
And all unclouded still the Truth doth shine,
Still glows the ardor, fed by grace divine.
Eastward the nave extending mutely saith:
Lo, there He rose triumphant over death;
The Light of light, the Sun of Righteousness,
Whom nations long in darkness hid confess.
Thence He with all His angels shall descend
In the Great Day when time itself shall end
Ever through solemn fast and gladsome feast
The Church expectant worships toward the east,
In prayers and praises mingling joy and dread
Of Him who comes to judge both quick and dead,
Who doth a place beside His Throne prepare
For her, His Bride, to be exalted there,
And keeps with her meanwhile His awful tryst
Beneath the shadow of the Eucharist.
Within the nave the pulpit fair uprears,
Whence the glad message whoso hearkens hears;
As from the stone forever rolled away
The angel of the Resurrection Day
Proclaimed the tidings of the Risen Lord,
The crowning miracle that should afford
No room for doubt, and for denial none,—
Eternal life, eternal victory won.

The steps from nave to choir that upward lead
Teach us humility, and bid us heed
How we regard the Heaven-appointed priest
Who at the altar serves; though he be least
'Mong men, he standeth in the Lord's own stead
When in His Name he breaks the holy Bread,
And with the Hidden Manna duly feeds
The hungry flock that follows where he leads.
Yea, in the Name and Person of the Lord
He breaks the Bread and he proclaims the Word;
'T is from his hand thee stream Baptismal flows,
Pardon he speaks and peace, Christ's peace, bestows.

Within the choir mark first the lectern stand,
The stalls and prayer-desks ranged on either hand;
Here lies the Holy Book whose mysteries
Are sealed to many a scholar great and wise,
But to the children of the Kingdom yield
The priceless treasures even on earth revealed.
Fair and more fair behold the place appear
As to the holiest our feet draw near;
Each least detail how beautiful to trace,
And learn the moulding touch of Heavenly grace.
See, too, how oft the varied cross we find,
That pleads on every hand, Leave all behind.
Three steps again ascending seem to say,
Thus must the pilgrim mount the Heavenward way;
By faith, hope, charity,—these three;
The last is first; the chiefest, charity,
Whose one supremest height He reached alone
As Man who only could for man atone.
As unto Christ both Priest and Sacrifice
The earth's wide ends must turn their countless eyes,
So on the altar all the temple waits;
Here vision centres, worship culminates.
To this His shrine the Church adoring brings
Her richest gifts, her choicest offerings;
Her tribute gold, her myrrh of penitence,
And in her praise the precious frankincense.
And ever on "the altar trimmed aright"
She tends with loving care each typic light,
The God, the Man, unceasing to proclaim,
While the mid-cross declares His saving Name.

O House of God! thy beauty half untold
Is lost to many an eye that might behold,
While many a tongue complains, This might be sold
And given to the poor; and men forget
How like complaint by Christ Himself was met,
And fail to mark how they who fairest make
His temple, love His poor for Jesus' sake,
In proof whereof they consecrate with care
Their gifts to them upon His altar fair,
That they with Him and He with them may share.

Jesus, who hadst not where to lay Thy Head
When Thou the pathways of Thy poor didst tread,
Too mean for Thee the temples that we raise,
Though echoing to centuries of praise!