Prepare no altars in the places high;
Let not vain incense rise unto the sky;
Tell humbly thou the truth that maketh whole
To seeking hearts, in gentle tones of Soul.
The tide of error, surging on the shore
Of sense, doth seem to lift its voice and roar;
Yet Soul has but to whisper, soft and clear,
And every waiting, listening heart doth hear.
Oh, Truth-inspired gratitude, this hour
Unfolding in our hearts like some rare flower
Brought forth by dew of heaven, wondrously,
Lies warm within our hearts, eternally.
O Christ, thou light of lights upon our way,
Thy love to us becomes more real each day;
Truth dwelleth not upon some distant shore,
But is the Soul of man forevermore.
