Classic Poem

Through paths of pleasant thought I ran,
False Science sang enchanted airs;
She told of nature and of man,
And of the God-like gifts he bears.
But when I sat down by the way,
And thought out life and thought out sin,
The burning truths that round me lay,
And all the weak proud self within;

Still in my single soul there wrought
The sense of sin, the curse of doom,
Till slowly broke upon my thought
An Eastern olive garden's gloom.
Hung on Thy cross 'twixt earth and heaven
I saw Thee, Son of man Divine;
To Thee the bitter pain was given,
But all the heavy guilt was mine.

I know the serpent touched my heart,
I saw his trail on hand and brow;
No sinless thought, no perfect part,
But sullied breast and broken vow.
But then I felt my need of Thee,
And pride's illusions passed away;
And oh! that Thou hast died for me,
Is more than all the world can say.

The wounded fawn in yonder glade,
Beside the doe seeks rest from harm;
The babe that scorned its mother's aid,
Flies to her at the least alarm.
And thus I feel my need of Thee,
When sin and pride would tempt me most;
And oh! that Thou hast died for me,
Is more than all the skeptic's boast.