THE TRUE CHURCH.

I asked a holy man one day, "Where is the one true church, I pray?"

"Go round the world," said he, "and search: No man hath found the one true church."

I pointed to a spire, cross-crowned. "The church is false!" he cried, and frowned.

But, murmuring he had told me wrong, I pointed to the entering throng.

He answered, "If a church be true, It hath not many, but a few."

Around the font the people pressed, And crossed themselves from brow to breast.

"A cross!" he cried, "writ on the brow In water!—is it Christ's?—look thou!

"Each forehead, frowning, sheds it off: Christ's cross abides through scowl and scoff."

Then, looking through the open door, We saw men kneeling on the floor;

Faint candles, by the daylight dimmed,— Like wicks the foolish virgins trimmed;

Fair statues of the saints, as white As now their robes are, in God's light;

Sun-ladders, dropped aslant, all gold,— Like stairs the angels trod of old.

Around, above, from nave to roof, He gazed, and said, in sad reproof,—

"Alas! who is it understands God's temple is not made with hands?"

—We walked along a shaded way, Beneath the apple-blooms of May,

And came upon a church whose dome Bore still the cross, but not for Rome.

We brushed a cobweb from a pane, And gazed within the sacred fane

"Do prayers," he asked, "the more avail, If murmured nigh an altar-rail?

"Does water sprinkled from a bowl Wash any sin from any soul?

"Do tongues that taste the bread and wine Speak truer after, by that sign?

"The very priest, in gown and bands, Hath lying lips and guilty hands!"

"He speaks no error," answered I; "He says the living all shall die,

"The dead all rise; and both are true; Both wholesome doctrines,—old, not new."

My friend returned, "He aims a blow To strike the sins of long ago,—

"Yet shields, the while, with studied phrase, The evil present in these days.

"Doth God in heaven impute no crime To prophets who belie their time?"

—We turned away among the tombs: The bees were in the clover-blooms;

The crickets leaped to let us pass; And God's sweet breath was on the grass.

We spelled the legends on the stones: The graves were full of martyrs' bones,—

Of bodies which the rack once brake In witness for the dear Lord's sake,—

Of ashes gathered from the pyres Of saints whose souls fled up through fires.

I heard him murmur, as we passed, "Thus won they all the crown at last;

"Which now men lose, through looking back To find it at the stake and rack:

"The rack and stake have gathered grime: God's touchstone is the passing time."

—Just then, amid some olive-sprays, Two orioles perched, and piped their lays,

Until the gold beneath their throats Shook molten in their mellow notes.

Then, pealing from the church, a psalm Rolled forth upon the outer calm.

"Both choirs," said I, "are in accord; For both give worship to the Lord."

Said he, "The tree-top song, I fear, Fled first and straightest to God's ear.

"If men bind other men in chains, Then chant, doth God accept the strains?

"Do loud-lipped hymns His ear allure?— God hates the church that harms the poor!"

—Then rose a meeting-house in view, Of bleached and weather-beaten hue,

Where, plain of garb and pure of heart, Men kept the church and world apart,

And sat in waiting for the light That dawns upon the inner sight;

Nor did they vex the silent air With any sound of hymn or prayer;

But on their lips God's hand was pressed, And each man kissed it and was blessed.

I asked, "Is this the true church, then?" "Nay," answered he, "a sect of men:

"And sects that lock their doors in pride Shut God and half His saints outside.

"The gates of heaven, the Scriptures say, Stand open wide by night and day:

"Whoso shall enter hath no need To walk by either church or creed:

"The false church leadeth men astray; The true church showeth men the way."

—Whereat I still more eager grew To shun the false and find the true;

And, naming all the creeds, I sought What truth, or lie, or both, they taught:

Thus,—"Augustine—had he a fault?" My friend looked up to yon blue vault,

And cried, "Behold! can one man's eyes Bound all the vision of the skies?"

I said, "The circle is too wide." "God's truth is wider," he replied;

"And Augustine, on bended knee, Saw just the little he could see;

"So Luther sought with eyes and heart, Yet caught the glory but in part;

"So Calvin opened wide his soul, Yet could not comprehend the whole:

"Not Luther, Calvin, Augustine, Saw half the vision I have seen!"

—Then grew within me a desire That kindled like a flame of fire.

I looked upon his reverent brow, Entreating, "Tell me, who art thou?"

When, by the light that filled the place, I knew it was the Lord's own face!

Through all my blood a rapture stole That filled my body and my soul.

I was a sinner and afraid: I bowed me in the dust and prayed:—

"O Christ the Lord I end Thou my search, And lead me to the one true church!"

Then spake He, not as man may speak: "The one true church thou shalt not seek;

"Behold, it is enough," He said, "To find the one true Christ, its Head!"

Then straight He vanished from my sight, And left me standing in the light.