  I stood in a wide-arched portal That led to the house of God, And gazed on the assembling people As up the aisles they trod; And as with lofty bearing, In ranks of proud array, With garments all resplendent, The worshippers bowed to pray. And the lights streamed out the windows, Streamed out like shining spears— Sparkled gaily and scintillated From the gleaming chandeliers— Out on the desolate tents of night, All tempest-tossed and wild; Out on the glistening frost and snow, Where drift on drift was piled. Oh, proud worshippers there assembled, Sumptuously clad and warm, Do you think of the homeless wanderers Out in the pitiless storm? Have you sheltered, clothed and fed, And cheered by sympathy’s magic The soul that was almost dead? Do you think of the hopeless poor? Their dwellings are chill and bare; They are comfortless and all forlorn, With little to eat or wear. Do you visit them in their sorrow? Do you help them from your store? For Providence has ever blest you With enough, to spare, and more. Do you help the struggling widow In the fight for daily bread? Do you succour the orphan children, Scantily clothed and fed? Do you visit the sick and needy, And soothe their heartache and pain? For encouraging words and kindness May lift them up strong again. The tall spire pointeth to heaven; The worshippers pass within, Heeding, perhaps, but slightly The want, the despair, and sin Of the great world’s unfortunate poor, Helpless and hopeless and worn; Tempted, fallen, and tired of life, Its bitter neglect and scorn. I turned away from the portal Thinking what might have been Had you kept the example set you By the lowly Nazarene. And faith in your precepts is flown, And because of example and teaching Many have sceptical grown. |
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