His Church Poem by Lucy Larcom

WITNESS to His eternal pity
For the world's wanderers it stands,
The House of God, the Holy City,
Builded of light, not made with hands.
Without are loneliness and danger;
Within are warmth, and food, and songs:
Here is no alien and no stranger;
Here every soul of man belongs.
No saved child calls to his lost brother,
'See! I am holier than thou!'
In Christ they recognize each other;
His name is written on every brow.
And in His name all outcasts enter,
And claim their birthright through His love:
His Church is the great human centre
Towards which earth's generations move.
They come, to share His consecration;
To drink His cup of sacrifice;
To be fresh wells of His salvation,
That in life's desert shall arise.
One home, — the hearthstone of the Father;
One table, spread by His dear Son;
One Spirit drawing us together;
God's family in Him made one!
Christ tells the world her own true story;
Her failing cup fills to its brim
With love, and blessedness, and glory;
We find each other, finding Him.
His Church is heaven and earth in union;
The lift of wings, the clasp of hands!
God offering man divine communion! —
The door forever open stands.