Classic Poem

Thy voice made rocks Thy fountains; ocean waves
A wall around Thy chosen; desert caves
Their temples; flames their car of victory
Thy touch made lepers pure as infancy.
Thy word lulls storms to sleep, like babes at play;
Or, as they rage, bids them white chrisoms lay
For flowers. Thy smile makes tears of sinful men
The joy of angels. Shall we wonder, then,
That blinded hate, and envy masked in scorn,
Twining for Thee the crown of sharpest thorn,
But wove a wreath of glory for Thy brow;
And broken hearts, which sins and sorrows bow,
Scanning through all the heaven of Thy Word
Some special guiding-star of hope to see;
And angels, searching tributes for their Lord,
Finding these words of those that hated Thee,
" This Man receiveth sinners , " and again
(Written in blood earth's darkest record o'er),
" He saved others , " pause and search no more; —
Both finding all they sought, gaze and adore.