Classic Poem

Behold the lilies of the field
Arrayed beyond compare!
No loom on earth did ever yield
A tissue half so fair:
No rich and splendid potentate
Was e'er so well attired;
It seems as tho' their bloomy state
Was made to be admired.

The lilies neither spin nor weave,
But Nature's laws obey,
And thus from Nature's Lord receive
Their garments fair and gay:
And we if by His will we live,
May cast our cares aside,
Secure that He our bread will give
And raiment meet provide.

But tho' the lilies in their bloom
So gloriously are drest,
That broid'ress hand and weaver's loom
Ne'er framed so fine a vest,
Yet far more glorious robes than these
Our Saviour doth prepare
For souls, that seek their God to please,
In Heav'n's bright courts to wear.

Yes! He, in his almighty love,
Prepares the raiment fine,
That souls shall wear in Heav'n above,
Illumed with light divine;
Yet we ourselves must labour too,
Assisted by this grace,
Our souls in raiment to endue
Meet for a holier place.

E'en here below that clothing bright,
The Heav'n-born souls array,
Shines with a steady inward light
As clear as light of day:
Fairer than flow'rs that deck the mead
To Faith's keen sight revealed,
To worldly eyes a beggar's weed,
Its splendours all concealed.

The robes, in which the souls that live
Before their God appear,
Though Christ the rich material give,
Are framed and fashioned here:
If here in earth's low shadowy vale
Those robes like glow-worms gleam,
They'll make the glittering stars look pale
When high in Heav'n they beam.