The soul wherein God dwells (what church can holier be?)
Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.
How far from earth to heaven, not very far, my friend;
A single heavy step will all thy trouble end.
Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,
If He is not born in thee, thy soul is still forlorn;
The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul;
The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.
Hold, then! where runnest thou? Know heaven is in thee;
Seek'st thou for God elsewhere, His face thou'lt never see.
Ah! would thy heart but be a manger for the birth,
God would once more become a child upon the earth.
I don't believe in death; if, hour by hour I die,
'Tis hour by hour to gain a better life thereby.
Go out, God will go in; die, thou, and let Him live.
Be not, and He will be; wait, and He'll all things give.
Oh, shame! the silk-worm works, and spins till it can fly,
And thou, my soul, wilt still on thine own earth-clod lie.
*"It appears to me beautiful and entirely in Science. The name of its author is unknown to me."— E. P. F.
