No distant Lord have I,
Loving afar to be;
Made flesh for me, he cannot rest
Unless he rests in me.
Brother in joy and pain,
Bone of my bone was he,
Now--intimacy closer still,
He dwells himself in me.
I need not journey far
This dearest Friend to see;
Companionship is always mine,
He makes his home with me.
I envy not the twelve,
Nearer to me is he;
The life he once lived here on earth
He lives again in me.
Ascended now to God,
My witness there to be,
His witness here am I, because
His Spirit dwells in me.
O glorious Son of God,
Incarnate Deity,
I shall forever be with thee
Because thou art with me.
--Maltbie D. Babcock.
"WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?"
If I lay waste and wither up with doubt
The blessed fields of heaven where once my faith
Possessed itself serenely safe from death;
If I deny the things past finding out;
Or if I orphan my own soul of One
That seemed a Father, and make void the place
Within me where He dwelt in power and grace,
What do I gain that am myself undone?
--William Dean Howells.
[Footnote 1: The poems by the Rev. Maltbie D. Babcock on this and the
following page are reprinted, by special permission, from "Thoughts for
Every Day Living," copyright, 1901, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]