Classic Poem

Go not, my soul, in search of him,
Thou wilt not find him there, —
Or in the depths of shadow dim,
Or heights of upper air.

For not in far-off realms of space
The Spirit hath its throne;
In every heart it findeth place
And waiteth to be known.

Thought answereth alone to thought,
And Soul with soul hath kin;
The outward God he findeth not
Who finds not God within.

And if the vision come to thee
Revealed by inward sign,
Earth will be full of Deity
And with his glory shine!

Thou shalt not want for company
Nor pitch thy tent alone;
The indwelling God will go with thee
And show thee of his own.

O gift of gifts, O grace of grace,
That God should condescend
To make thy heart his dwelling-place
And be thy daily Friend!

Then go not thou in search of him,
But to thyself repair;
Wait thou within the silence dim
And thou shalt find him there!