Classic Poem

" LO , here! " they cry, " Lo, here! " " Lo, there! "
Each certain that he knows the place
Where he reveals his presence fair,
The matchless beauty of his face.

And so again I traveLo'er,
In ever vain and fruitless search,
The barren fields where oft before
I sought in vain the one true Church.

The Christ which here demands my vow
Is not the one which there appears;
These to a shape of terror bow,
Those have their images of fear.

And ever where the creeds abide,
And where the priestly foot has trod,
I find more faith in one who died
Than in the ever-living God.

Forget, my soul, the noisy street,
The priest that mumbles at his shrine;
For thee the scholar's calm retreat,
For thee the Christ of critics fine.

Alas! the wise men do not kneel
To-day, as in the days of old,
And at the self-same altar yield
Their gifts more precious far than gold.

One says that Matthew's simple tale
Contains the image that I seek;
Another, that I cannot fail
To find him where the mystic Greek,

Incarnate in the mind of John,
Made strange the great Apostle's speech,
And placed the well-beloved Son
For ever out of human reach.

Another thinks with glorious Paul
That Christ a spirit was, — a life;
That charity is more than all,
And worse than vanity the strife

Of those that cry, " I am of Paul! "
And those that shout, " Of Cephas I! "
Forgetting that we stand or fall
By faith in Love as God most High.

And still another thinks that he
The Christ of the Apocalypse,
Returning out of heaven, shall see,
With vengeance breathing from His lips.

The one true Christ I seek in vain;
The Church of now, the Bible old,
Are dumb in answer to my pain;
The Fathers' hearts have long been cold.

But, in his written words, I see
Great Origen his forehead lean
Upon a Christ that cannot be
The Christ that haunted Augustine.

Then speaks my heart within my breast,
Which from the first had made its moan
That I should be so ill at rest,
And feel myself so much alone:

" Why longer urge thy fruitless search?
The one true Christ thou shalt not find
Until thou seek him in his Church,
All beautiful, within thy mind.

" His temple is the human soul:
He dwelleth ever more within;
The harmonies of heaven roll
For him whose life is free from sin.

" Be free from foolish hates and fears,
The love of ease, the love of pelf,
And all the Christs of all the years
Shall lead thee nearer to thyself.

" The highest word that is for thee
Awaits thee in no distant land;
Thy deepest mood shall ever be
By thee obeyed as God's command.

" Not farther off, but farther in, —
Such is the nature of thy quest;
They heaven find who heaven win,
The one true Christ is in thy breast. "